LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



~ J H^ S 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



POEMS 



BY 



WILLIAM CLEAVER WILKINSON 




NEW YORK 

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 

1883 






Copyright, 1883, by 
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 



Trow's 

Printing and Bookbinding Company 

201-213 East Twelfth Street 

New York 



$0 



FRANK JEWETT MATHER 



THE MOST CHIVALROUS OF FRIENDS 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

foreshadowings i 

"Where the Brook and River Meet," .... 4 

Pilgrimage, 6 

Whose was the Blame? . 8 

Mine was the Blame, 10 

John's Poem, 13 

The Wife's Vigil 23 

Consolation, 27 

A Picture of Memory, 30 

A Dedication, 33 

The Poet's Mine 35 

Neshobee, 36 

The Vale of Otter 38 

The Island of Tranquillity 40 

The Northern Lights 42 

The Wolves' Feast 44 

The Song of Runaway Pond 49 



vi CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Auguries 58 

The Preparation, . . . . 60 

Our Christmas Morn, 62 

The Old Year and the New 64 

A New Year's Trifle, . . . . . . 67 

Dedicated 69 

In an Album, . . . . . . . . . 72 

How We Came Together, 74 

Transfigured, 78 

Desiderium, . . .79 

A Remembered Teacher, . . . . . . . 82 

LiFe of His Life, . . . . . . . .83 

A Regret, 86 

The Open Guild of Letters, 88 

Courage, ..... .... ... 94 

Suggestion of a Stanza, . . . . . . . 96 

Experiments in Literal Translation of Homer, . 97 

A Sabbath at Sea, .102 

The Clear Pearl, 104 

Grace, not Nature, . .105 

Vanitas Vanitatum 106 

Christ in Me, . . . . 107 

Grace for Grace, . . . . -. ... .108 
An Ideal and a Wish, . . ...... no 



CONTENTS. vn 

PAGE 

Good Cheer in 

Tides, 113 

My Open Polar Sea 115 

Whosoever, . 117 

Love and Will 119 

At the Supper 124 

Enticed, 127 

Dedication Hymn, 131 

Anniversary Hymn, 132 

National Hymn 134 



Webster: an Ode, ...*.... 139 



C. R. W. 



Hark, 179 

To a Walnut Tree in October 180 



POEMS. 



FORESHADOWINGS. 

I sit and sigh, but not with idle pain ; 

I have outlived the callow heats of youth ; 
The time of buds that go to. come again 

Is past with me, and I desire the truth. 

The deep, deep truth of long, long love I need ; 

I have no heart to waste in fruitless bloom, 
But all my heart I have for love indeed, 

And all my heart goes forth to meet my doom. 

What can I do, but sit and fold my hands ? 

I hear no footfalls of the one to come — 
Else I would rise and run through many lands 

To meet her coming, and to lead her home. 



2 FORESHADOWINGS. 

What do I long for ? — since I know not whom ; 

I long for peace from longing, and for rest ; 
Whether that I grow old — 1 find in room 

Of venturous pinions now a homesick breast ; 

Homesick, though not with retrospective pain, 
Hollow with hunger for a home to be, 

Breaking for longing toward a sweet refrain 
Forever borne o'er an enchanted sea. 

This wind and wave has worn my youth away ; 

'Tis long to anchor by the Blessed Isles ; — 
Yet there I dreamed for me a future lay 

Securely glad in one sweet woman's smiles. 

Oh, inaccessible lady charmed from me ! 

I see thee sit at evening by my fire, 
A light of wifely welcome circling thee, 

As home I draw to answer thy desire. 

I see thee there, my queen of feast and grace, 
Throned at my board, dispense the Attic cheer ; 

I look across and watch thee in thy place, 
Mine, and so fair — so queenly, and so dear. 



FORESHADOWINGS. 3 

I hear thee sing clear carols of the hearth, 

Pensive and sweet, in tender twilight glooms ; 

My children love the music more than mirth, 
And gather in frbm all the darkening rooms. 

Steals on a holier household hour than all : 

Thy children grouped about their mother's chair, 

Upon thy knees with them I see thee fall — 
Most beautiful among thy children there ! 

I talk with thee alone — I stroke thy hair — 
I read thy eyes — I fold thee to my breast ; 

We mix our mutual dreams, and purely share 
Love lapsing on through all our raptured rest. 

The days go onward ever, sun and rain ; 

The nights between them follow, cloud or star ; 
The same to us, no matter loss or gain, — 

Each unto each what naught could make, can mar. 

And we grow old together, in my dream, 
Like blended rivers placid toward the sea — 

Alas, but now my lone divided stream 

Still hither, thither, roves in quest of thee ! 



4 " WHERE THE BROOK AND RIVER MEET. " 



"WHERE THE BROOK AND RIVER MEET." 

My maiden visions curb their airy nights, 

And droop their pinions and come back to me ; 

That first fair world, with all its young delights 
And morning hopes, they can no longer see. 

My girlhood's world lies lost beneath the flood 
Of light, bright days that fell like silver rain, 

Swollen from the fountains of my womanhood, 
Now broken up, not to be sealed again. 

But lo ! another world, as fair, more calm, 
Arisen like Delos, floats upon the wave ; 

I bare my brow to breezes blowing balm, 

And smile through tears above my girlhood's grave. 

A tender longing, full of gracious pain, 

A want more rich than wealth possessed before, 

Delicious rumors rife in heart and brain, 
And rosv warmths that flush me more and more ; 



" WHERE THE BROOK AND RIVER MEET. " 5 

A sense of incompleteness, new and strange, 

Something that draws me toward support beside — 

A hundred nameless heraldries of change 
Forewarn me of a chance that may betide. 

I watch to meet an eye I have not met ; 

I hearken for a voice I have not heard ; 
I tremble toward a touch that hath not vet 

J 

The dreaming blood's expectant pulses stirred. 

Sometimes a look will startle, or a tone ; 

A touch sometimes half seem to shake my heart ; 
A moment then alone is more alone, 

And fates were sweet together, not apart. 

Yet well content with blessed discontent, 
I dream my dream, nor care to waken soon ; 

The dream bides fair, though fairer far be meant, 
Let the white dawn delay the golden noon. 

So watch, my heart, and let me dream my dream ; 

Watch, and awake me when the time shall come ; 
Perhaps our prince is nearer than we deem, 

But greet him thou — my dream may make me dumb. 



PILGRIMAGE. 



PILGRIMAGE. 

Pilgrim I am, and make my way alone ; 

Sometimes I pitch my tent, when not for rest ; 
Then, as I sit and muse, there cometh one, 

My heart's unbidden, yet most welcome guest : 
I know her nigh by neither word nor sign, 
Only a sweeter light within the rich sunshine. 

Or, if it be the saintly close of day, 

And the day's so beguiled march be o'er, 

Then by a starrier clearness in the ray 

Of love's clear star, from that deep sunset shore, 

I know my angel is within my tent, 

And her gold-shadowing spirit o'er my spirit leant. 

Or, if at midnight, while I lie asleep, 
A secret glory down the moonbeam roll ; 

Or some serene transfiguration creep 

Over the clustering stars that crowd the pole, 



PILGRIMAGE. 7 

Tingeing my dreams, then waking me to dreams, 
I know that these are her annunciation-gleams. 

Fresher than morning, when the morning breaks, 
Breaks from my East the morning meant for me ; 

East is to me the way my angel takes 

To reach my tent, whate'er that way may be ; 

To her my tent-door opens self-withdrawn, 

And to the bridegroom sun swing wide the gates of 
dawn. 

So noonday, evening, midnight, morning, I 
Lonely am not, although I dwell alone ; 

But my blind-poet heart doth prophesy, 
Dreaming a dream and vision of her own — 

One tent, not far, by Elim's springs and palms, 

And two that, side by side, sit singing pilgrim 
psalms. 



WHOSE WAS THE BLAME? 



WHOSE WAS THE BLAME? 

Whose was the blame ? Our crescent love had 
grown 
Full like the moon which, that December eve, 
Calmly and brightly on our bridal shone — 

The wane of Love, what future months re- 
trieve ? 

The winter moon seemed long to pause at full, 
Tranced fair and large in those pure spheres of 
sky, 
Night after night, as by some miracle 

Charmed not to wane, lest Love should wane and 
die. 

But the moon waned, and shrank into her grave, 
Thence duly, month by month, to issue new — 

Love from her " vacant interlunar cave " 
No long fulfilment of her cycle drew. 



WHOSE WAS THE BLAME? 9 

We never knew what first the perfect shield 
Touched with the little dint that grew so wide 

Afterward — and left at last the ample field 

Starry in vain, whence Love had waned and died. 

Whose was the blame ? In her young horoscopes 
Of the sweet wedded years that were to be, 

I still had been the sovereign of her hopes, 
The star that ruled her bright astrology. 

And one fair face, forever formed anew, 
Had closed to me the vistas of my way ; 

All voices sworn of lovely, good, or true, 

Heard, or but dreamed, had one sweet thing to say. 

Whose was the blame ? We saw each other such, 
And clasped each other's hands without surprise ; 

Our mutual souls saluted in the touch, 

And doubt was slain between our conscious eyes. 

Were we not one ? Then twain were never one ! 

Our beings mixed and beat the same desire. 
Whose was the blame ? All things beneath the sun 

Change, and this changed ; but Love, could Love 
expire ? 



10 MINE WAS THE BLAME. 



MINE WAS THE BLAME. 

Mine was the blame — all, all that cruel blame — 
Mine, mine, not ours, but only, only mine ; 

We knew not, thou nor I, but when he came, 

Death came, great Death, Death taught me mine 
and thine. 

He showed me thy cold hand, that clasped no more ; 

He showed me thy shut eyes in that eclipse ; 
He showed me thy fixed face, where played before 

The sweet sad smile — yet frozen on thy lips. 

Alone I knelt by that still shrine of clay, 
Whence the fair inner light of life had fled ; 

I could not see within — 'twere vain to pay 

Vows at a shrine whose gentle saint was dead ! 

Yet I did long to tell thee, gentle saint, 

What the wise master Death was telling me ; 

My heart grew heavy with uneased complaint, 
Unwonted not to turn for ease to thee. 



MINE WAS THE BLAME. II 

Did I not move thee somewhat, placid clay, 
Did I not move thee somewhat with my pain ? 

Heardest thou naught of all I yearned to say ? 
Oh, ears how deaf, and oh, desire how vain ! 

Thy look seemed gracious that was so severe ; 

The awe was more for that no awe was meant ; 
The fast pathetic eye that found no tear ! 

The lips relenting that did not relent ! 

"Thine was the blame," Death said, and touched 
thy hand ; 
" This hand," he said, " was warm when thine was 
cold ; 
See, I have closed these eyes from thy demand 
Of the old looks to looks no more the old, 

"And this cheek sealed, and these lips locked," said 
Death, 
" Now they are mine, not thine," he sternly 
said, 
" Thine was the blame ; therefore I stopped her 
breath." 
" O Death," I said, " and would that I were dead ! " 



12 MINE WAS THE BLAME. 

Judicial Death made answer: " Nay, but live ; 

I doom thee thus — thy punishment be life ; 
Yet Death at last is kind, and can forgive ; 

What if loss gain whom gain had lost — thy wife ? " 

So Death the judge was Death the comforter ; 

Thou, therefore, pitying saint, be comforted ; 
Just purgatorial pains brief space defer 

The nuptials wherein we aright will wed. 



JOHN'S POEM. 13 



JOHN'S POEM. 

I met him in the Pitti Palace, changed 
From the fair boy that I had known at school, 
And loved, a score of years before — man-grown, 
A full bass voice from 'twixt his bearded lips, 
And a wife leaning on his yielded arm. 

Slow sauntering to and fro, from this to that, 
And back to reperuse the artist's thought 
In a new light, or with some deeper guess 
More deeply seen, they lingered, and I watched 
And made him out. John's old-time look — 
The gesture of the hand, the mobile brow, 
The smile, the mien, the air — all, all was his, 
The same, the same, my friend. I went toward him 
To call his name and claim him ; but his eye 
Met mine with a regard so alien-wise, , 

And seemed to challenge my intent with such 
A courteous hospitality of doubt 
That I was dashed to disbelieve my guess. 



14 JOHN'S POEM. 

" Pardon," I said, "but something that I saw, 
Or fancied, in your face and port, misled 
My eyes to find in you an old-time friend — 
And still, sir, you are still so strangely like — " 
We looked at one another eye to eye, 
Till suddenly our souls swam to our eyes, 
And "John!" and "Walter!" made us boys and 
friends. 

One evening after, at their inn, I sat 
Till late to talk with John of the old days, 
His wife a silent partner of our talk 
And waiting for our mutual tales to reach 
The time when she knew John — it seemed half 

strange 
To her that any one had known her John 
Before she knew him — but her silent art 
In listening lent its secret charm to make 
Our reminiscences more sweet to both, 
And lure us farther on. At last John said : 

* " There, Mary, you remember, we first met." 

And Mary smiled with such a woman's grace 
Of gladness to be blended in John's thought 



JOHN'S POEM. 15 

With scenes so dear to him, that I conceived 
A. wish, too sudden for the second mind 
That hastened after with its late reproof, 
To know their lovers' story — how they met 
And loved, and what the fortunes of their love. 
I said : 

" If I could hear how you two met, 
And mastered fate, and out of twain were one, 
Perhaps, perhaps, I know not, it might yield 
Solution of a riddle of my life 
Which baffles me." 

Misgiving made me bold, 
And I went on : 

" So, frankly, Madam, here 
In your own presence, for my loyal pledge 
Of being no curious prier only, I, 
By leave assumed from you as not saying nay, 
Beg to be told what other may be told 
How John found you and won a noble wife. 

" Now, John, the whole, the crescent, wax and 
wane, 



1 6 JOHN'S POEM. 

Eclipses, occultations, all, to the full moon, 
And long, long light, and cloudless sky, of love 
In wedlock." 

John and Mary smiled, 
But whether yes or no, I did not guess, 
Shutting my eyes to dream what I should hear. 

And John : 

" Well, Mary, shall I tell him all- 
How frankly you surrendered first to me ; 
And how your heart misgave you afterward, 
To make you doubt yourself and doubt the truth 
Of the most true conclusion of your life ? 
Ah, Mary, you, unconscious four-o'-clock, 
Folded yourself demurely from my love, 
And played at death to me, deceiving not 
Your lover, who was wiser, but yourself. 
I never gave you up through that long lapse, 
Long to the doubt and fear that made my love 
Delicious with a sad solicitude 
Of hope, though brief as one swift week of June. 
It was not all at unawares to me 



JOHN'S POEM. 17 

When you shut up your bloom and ceased to 

breathe 
Your heart of sweetness out in sacrifice 
To make me rich — a warning went before. 
Forewarned, I watched and waited for the life 
Of love within my folded flower to rise 
And fling her petals open fair again. 
Once wooed, twice won, I wedded you my wife." 

" A poem, or a parable ? " I asked. 

" Perhaps some echo out of days so sweet, 
Or sad — and sad, yet not unsweet " — he said, 
" Still lingers in my heart to tune my speech 
In speaking of them. They were very sweet, 
A poem and a parable to me. 

" I never told you, Mary, but true love 
Even made your John a rhymer for that once 
In all his life — 'twas with no wish or will 
Of mine, and therefore with no blame to me. 
A rhythm in nature, then full pressed with June, 
And music in the motion of my blood 
Turned all my thoughts of you perforce to song. 



1 8 JOHN'S POEM. 

My song was very brave and gay at first 

And thankful ; not the birds rejoice in choir 

Over the springing grass and bursting flowers, 

More than the soul of song within me born 

Caroled for awe and gladness over you. 

But a strong wind bore down the flying jet 

Of music from the fountain of my heart, 

And bent it prone to pathos ; then again 

It soared and triumphed, for that wind went down. 

" But, parable or poem, here it is :" 

MY FLOWER. 
I. 

My God hath made a flower to blow 

For me, for me alone ; 
There is no other heart can know, 

No other but my own, 
The sweetness of this human flower, 

That blooms for me alone. 

She blossoms when she wills, my flower, 

But always wills to me ; 
The rest that came to find her bower, 

They came, but did not see 
The flower, that would not bloom for them 

But always wills to me. 



JOHN'S POEM. 19 

She waited twenty springs in leaf, 

Distilling sun and shower, 
Her maiden-April joy and grief, 

To sweetness every hour — 
Such change to sweetness never yet 

Did suffer sun and shower. 

But when God drew my feet to where 

She folded up her heart 
And twenty years of sweetness there, 

The leaf began to part 
And show the flower, that never now, 

Shall never fold her heart. 

I cannot tell why this is so ; 

It seems an utter grace ; 
There is no cause in me, I know, 

No power of worthiness ; 
But I remember once before 

An equal utter grace. 

Does any doubt discomfort me ? 

Is it not perfect bliss ? 
Surely I know my dream will be 

More and more rich than this. 
Strange, that the foolish heart should fear 

Too sudden-perfect bliss ! 



20 JOHN'S POEM. 

My flower's breath grows sweet and faint, 
Like the lark's voice when far ; 

But the lark feels the earth's constraint, 
He does not cross the bar — 

The lark comes back — I cannot think 
My flower will faint too far. 

II. 

She was not mistress of her will ; 

" My time of bud and leaf, 
My folded bloom, so rich and still, 

Alas ! 'twas all too brief," 
My flower repined, in wish and dream 

Relapsing into leaf. 

And so she swooned away from me, 

One syncope of bloom, 
And that rose heart ceased suddenly 

Its pulses of perfume ; 
The others called it death, but I, 

Only suspense of bloom. 

She swooned of her own sweetness then ; 

The fragrance she exhaled 
Became the breath she breathed again, 

'Twas so her being failed : 
It was not life for her, but me, 

The fragrance she exhaled. 



JOHN'S POEM. 21 

But in a trance of love and hope, 

Long hope, begot of love, 
Long love, hope-nurtured, like a cope 

Of prophet's warmth, above 
That hoarding heart of sweet, I watched 

The second bloom of love. 

The blithe young year was flush with June ; 

No flower withheld its gift ; 
A holocaust of incense boon 

The priestess tribes uplift ; 
Amid this wide oblation how 

Shall she withhold her gift ? 

She yields, she blooms — the blossomed bowers, 

Sweet with self-sacrifice, 
The sister-lore of censer flowers 

Prevailed to make her wise ; 
My flower had learned that flowers are sweet 

For sweet self-sacrifice ! 

And now her frank and open bloom, 

Wide to the air and sun, 
Feels with each waft of lost perfume 

New strength for sweetness won : 
Sweet and not faint her breath has grown, 

Since wide to air and sun. 



22 JOHN'S POEM. 

There grew a fine vibration in John's voice, 
The pathos of past gladness, as he read. 

"Words, Walter, words — a riddle, if you will ; 
Take them and spell them out — I make them yours. 
Sitting by Mary and remembering all, 
Dear friend, I trust for you some good like mine." 



THE WIFE'S VIGIL. 23 



THE WIFE'S VIGIL. 

The clock was noiseless as the creep of time ; 
Only the soft throb of the pendulum, 
But felt, not heard, and like the pulsing blood. 
The slow, persistent dial hands paced round 
The dull same sentry-beat about the hours, 
And stood, or seemed to stand, at two — blank two — 
The dead-point of the circling night. A lamp 
Burned dim, with a low vigil flame, and lit 
The room in steadfast shadow, where one waked 
To watch another's sleep. The husband slept, 
And the wife waked ; and they two were alone. 

The sick man's bosom scarcely heaved with 
breath, 
And she scarce breathed to see him scarcely breathe. 
He must not wake, or he will wake to die ; 
But if he sleep, then he may sleep to live. 
O Night, dear Night, kind luller of all sounds, 



24 THE WIFE'S VIGIL. 

Slow Night, still Night, nurse him with dark and 

calm ! 
He. shall not hear me breathe, nor hear my heart 
Beat, though it beat nothing but love for him. 

Hush ! Hark ! A footstep ! for I heard it well. 
He did not hear it ; and it falls again. 
Another ! And another ! If he wake ! 
He shall not wake. Those cat-like footsteps still ! 
But it is well, if he must rob the house, 
He walks so softly. Oh, poor man — bad man ! - 
Now, angels, weave your charms to shield his sleep ! 
O God, thou givest thy beloved sleep ! 
O my beloved, God's beloved, sleep ! 

Outside with patient cunning he had plied, 
The prowler, his long purpose in the dark 
Without a sound, and wrought it, entering in. 
He spied the light, and the light drew him on. 
A moment on the border of the dark, 
The spirit of the darkness, hovering, 
There in the centre of her sphere of light, 
The spirit of the light, he saw her sit — 
The woman, beautiful, and pure, and pale — 



THE WIFE'S VIGIL. 2$ 

With shut eyes, rapt in prayer, and calm, and 

strong. 
A power from the vision fell on him. 
He had not guessed in his dark heart how much 
Good overmatches evil, in its strength 
To watch, and wait, and work, and overcome. 

He in his doubt and pause, she raised her eyes 
And saw all in an instant. Instantly, 
With simultaneous thought and act, she rose — 
A finger on her lips to make him dumb — 
And turned, and from their secret drawer took 
The keys to all the treasures of the house ; 
Then all as if he were her servant come 
In answer to her call to do her wish — 
And he became her servant in the sign — 
Moved like a moving statue silently, 
To meet the wondering robber where he stood. 
The straight regard of those clear, steadfast eyes, 
Bent on him without fear, or horror, or doubt, 
Wrought a confusion in his brain and sense, 
And quelled his evil boldness in the man. 
She did not fear, but he was sore afraid. 
She looked no horror of him, but he conceived 



26 THE WIFE'S VIGIL. 

A horror of his own self, and of his deed. 
She dwelt secure in purpose and result ; 
But he was baffled in perplexity. 
Good made her light, and evil darkened him. 

She held the keys forth, pointing with mute sign 
To him that lay so still in sleep or death. 
The robber saw and understood, and took 
Involuntary purpose suddenly. 
He shook his head in silence for his sign, 
And, stepping velvet, vanished as he came. 

So the light purged him off into the dark. 
Perhaps a spark of light abode in him 
That after leavened his nature into light. 



CONS OLA TION. 27 



CONSOLATION. 

I dreamed last night of our darling boy, 

He shouted aloud for glee ; 
O love, but it filled my heart with joy 

His ruddy health to see ! 

And I said, My love, why, here is our son, 

He is not dead, he is here ; 
See him frisk and run in his frolic and fun, 

And hark to his voice, how clear ! 

It was all but an evil dream, my love, 

Thank God, it is over and past ! 
Our bending and watching his bed above 

So long, and so vainly at last. 

What a strange, foolish dream it was, my dear, 
But how real and how sad it seemed ! 

We did not guess, in our grief and our fear, 
We could not guess, that we dreamed. 



28 CONSOLATION. 

We thought it was surely so, that he 

Lay wearily waiting to die ; 
We thought it was surely so, that we 

Sat muffling our mutual cry. 

I laughed in my dream : Love, let us be wise, 

Lo, how little this looks like death ! 
I laughed, but the tears made a mist in my eyes, 

And I breathed as if fearful of breath. 

For the spell of that past which I dreamed was a 
dream — 

It abode, and it still would abide ; 
Insomuch that I yet could not utterly deem 

But somehow 'twas true he had died. 

And still, and still, the long, drear days, 

And the longer nights between, 
Wherein we twain went those death-shade ways, 

They still seemed indeed to have been. 

I could not forget his sad, dull look, 

The look of precocious pain, 
That the sweet little face not once forsook, 

Not once let it brighten again ! 



CONSOLATION. 29 

And the cry that he cried — you remember his cry, 

One intense inarticulate plea, 
Piercing keen from his heart to that Heart in the 
sky: 

Lord Jesus, have mercy on me ! 

I heard it again, pang-sped arrow of sound, 

It clove to the quick of my sleep ; 
I awoke, and awake, alas, love, I found 

There was bitter occasion to weep. 

For our boy was not there, I but dreamed of our boy, 

Our beautiful Arthur and brave ; 
The vision had vanished, that vision of joy, 

And Arthur remained in his grave. 

In his grave, that bright being ! Nay, beloved, not so, 
That brightness, that sweetness, survive ; 

They never could bury such sunshine, I know ; 
Little Arthur, be sure, is alive. 

Believing, beloved, is blessed content ; 

We shall weep, but our tears will be peace ; 
To betoken what is, that vision was sent, 

What is, and what never shall cease ! 



30 A PICTURE OF MEMORY. 



A PICTURE OF MEMORY. 

It may be that in after time, 
As hath been in the time before, 

These pleasant thoughts that fall to rhyme 
Will leave me lone forevermore. 

I seem to see a radiant hearth, 
And looks of trust, and happy eyes ; 

I catch the sound of children's mirth, 
Laughter and words and quick replies. 

The father sits, with calm content, 
The sober centre of the scene, 

Reading with visage downward bent, 
Or musing with abstracted mien. 

Beside him, seeking hidden joy, 

His favorite books around him spread, 

A frank, clear-eyed, and serious boy 
Converses with the wiser dead. 



A PICTURE OF MEMORY. 3 1 

The daughters share the mother's mind, 
Wearing a brow of household care ; 

While untouched youth from eyelids kind 
Looks out upon a world all fair. 

They win you with the woman's grace, 
Most quiet and pervasive power — 

An influence raining from the face, 

The unconscious fragrance of a flower. 

But thou, O high and queenly heart, 

My elder and superior friend, 
Who, filling well the mother's part, 

Knowest thou hast no nobler end, 

All this fair picture utters thee ; 

The vision and the light are thine, 
And that pure air of sanctity 

Which breathes this spell of peace divine. 

O image near of heaven afar, 

Ideal-perfect dream of home, 
Clear in my reverie as a star, 

And steadfast, whereso'er I roam — 



32 A PICTURE OF MEMORY. 

Leave me not lone ; I cannot be 
Utterly homeless anywhere, 

While Memory builds this house for me, 
And lights her fires of welcome there. 



A DEDICATION. 33 



A DEDICATION. 



AFTER SPENSER. 



As when, in isle in ocean far away, 

Faring o'er wave of his world-wandering tide, 

Which forlorn mariner, of winds the play, 

Where its green spot on azure deep doth ride, 
Spies, and misdeems he spies the enchanted side 

Of sweet-souled Spenser's western fairy world, 
Bright dream ! him landed greets the gentle pride 

Of unknown flower, he tendeth well, the curled 

Wave o'er, that stranger flower, where'er his course 
is hurled : 

So, sister mine, summing the mazy throng 
Of earthly ills, yet heavenward making way, 

In some far year perhaps this simple song 
That hies from heart in wondrous merry play, 
As water welleth to the pleasant day, 



34 A DEDICATION. 

Will woo thy small regard with downcast air ; 

In other years, as he the flower, so may 
Thou very gently cherish it, and bear 
Its bosomed sweet remembrance whereso'er thou 
fare ! 



THE POET'S MINE. 35 



THE POET'S MINE. 

There is a power or passion of the spirit, 

Oh ! wrought not, laid not, by the spirit's will, 

But coming, going, as the fit may wear it, 
Or he, the viewless conjurer, compel, 
That feigns, translates, transmutes whatever fill 

Earth, ocean, air, the substance of the mind, 
Into bright forms and essences, that still 

Flit with its shifting phase, return refined 

To more pure modes of grace more gloriously 
combined. 

These pass into the spirit ; there they grow 
Into a clearer beauty ; thus they blend 

With her own being ; an empyreal glow, 

And they are one — yet not the same ; these lend 
Their life, and the blithe spirit hastes to spend 

An effluence of her quality divine 

Which makes them co-immortal : without end 

This passes with the poet, till a mine 

Of jewels purest-wrought doth in his spirit shine ! 



3^ NESHOBEE. 



NESHOBEE. 



AFTER SPENSER. 



Neshobee was a little lovely spot 

You may have dreamed some drowsy summer's 
noon, 
But to have seen hath been above your lot, 

For now, alack-a-day, and much too soon, 

Its charms have passed from underneath the 
moon ! 
Aye me, sweet one, and might thy sooth minstrel 

Acquaint his harp how that the fond raccoon, 
And witty fox, and every brute gentle, 
And every bird and bloom inhabited thy dell ! 

Two undulating lines of hill-top green 
Did hide the rising and the setting sun, 

Yet that against the East excelled, I ween, 
And so the prime part of his course was run 
Before the waxing fervors were begun ; 



NESHOBEE. 37 

And then what time he, ardent eye of day, 

Did nearly look the western woods upon, 
Behind the opposite less steep alway 
He dropped, yet shed o'er half the heaven a milder ray. 

These were, in sooth, an arborous battlement, 

That eke for beauty and for use might be, 
Whereon did grow each tree of good intent 

The careful clime could nurse right ruggedly ; 

The rigid beech, the courtly hickory, 
The maple bleeding sweets, the solemn spruce, 

The impressible bass, the poplar, Quaker he, 
The sceptre-bearing birch, once — now this use, 
O star-eyed Progress ! is an ascertained abuse. 

And more there were, not worthless to be sung, 
But that it would my hasting harp delay 

To tell how fair the mountain ash uphung 
Her silver blossoms, or her berries gay 
Vermilion ; how the vine, with tendril spray, 

And flexible endeavor, twined the grove 
To amity ; so there the summer day 

Fainted for sweetness of one dream of love, 

A sense of joy and peace, like broodings of the dove ! 



38 THE VALE OF OTTER. 



THE VALE OF OTTER. 

One frolic leap from the farewell caress 
Of mountains joying in so fair a child, 

And Otter, 'scaped through woody wilderness, 
Lapses into a love-lorn valley mild 
Of swaying vines, and river willows wild, 

And many a bloomy grass, and many a flower, 
By whose sweet kiss the dallying wave beguiled 

Still in the prime, the late, the middle hour, 

Lingers through all his banks, a bright continuous 
bower. 

The river cherry, on the swimming brink, 

Sends down his bibulous root to seek the wave ; 
With fellow thirst, the willows drooping drink 

Through darkling roots and branches sunny brave; 

And all between, the long green grasses lave, 
Lapping the current's coolness ; here and there, 

The miner musk-rat winds his gallery-cave, 
And wantons in the water ; everywhere 
Whatever thrives in moist battens on banquet fare. 



THE VALE OF OTTER. 39 

So flush and full the convex river runs, 
And seamless green the endless meadow weaves ; 

Ever on either side the valley shuns, 
With flexile sweep, some wooded bastion's eaves 
Flung from the fortress mountains ; and all leaves 

Of trees that love the water-brink emboss, 

As with boon Nature's never-garnered sheaves, 

The level valley with their mounded gloss, 

Along the linked curves of Otter's living fosse. 

The banks are brim with water hazel-brown, 

The vale is brim with meadow living-green, 
Through fluent grass the river wanders down, 

And grass and river make one liquid scene. 

It seems blue Leman changed to emerald sheen, 
With waves of verdure capped with leafy spray, 

Where urgent Rhone has slacked his current keen, 
To heal the gentle wound with long delay, 
By which through all that peace he cleaves his 
warrior way. 



40 THE ISLAND OF TRANQUILLITY. 



THE ISLAND OF TRANQUILLITY. 

Hither withdrawn from all the world's disease, 
The dwellers do a gentle life consume, 

And comfort loss with fair philosophies 
Of the other realm, and of the latter doom 
Of such as hide their footsteps in the tomb. 

So many much-loved pathways there have ceased, 
Ceased from observance — though in larger room, 

From all besetments of the flesh released, 

No doubt the unseen steps to godlike space increased! 

Here let us change discourse perpetually 

Of household forms beheld no longer here : 
Father who went, and left small memory, 

But that was holy with a happy tear. 

Mild fell the light of sunset on his bier — 
Buried, we thought, with the beloved head 

To leaven the oppressive soil — and in our ear 
A murmur : " Dying in the Lord," it said, 
" Henceforth the dead is blest" — and blessed was 
the dead ! 



THE ISLAND OF TRANQUILLITY. 41 

And one that followed, ere the flower had turned 
To any fruit or lost its youthful hue ; 

But not before her prepared spirit had learned 
The careful step that keeps the pathway true, 
Through pastures green, forever wet with dew 

From clouds on Zion's hill : her breath was sweet 
With airs of heaven, that on her forehead blew. 

From hill to hill of prospect now her feet, 

Like Morning round the world, are walking pure 
and fleet. 

We yet perforce contented bide our while, 
Where gentle shores of resignation bound, 

On every side about, our Blessed Isle, 

With long slope sliding toward the gulfs profound 
Of the mid-sea of sorrow moaning round : 

Far off the rude roar of the storm retreats, 
And in our ears sinks to a soothing sound ; 

Lulled in a lovely weather, our calm seats 

Keep their pathetic calm whatever tempest beats. 



42 THE NORTHERN LIGHTS. 



THE NORTHERN LIGHTS. 

When the sole sun is low, 
And myriad stars watch in the wakeful even, 

Where lights that crystalline glow, 
Suffusing faint and fair the azure slopes of heaven ? 

Is it the icy field 
That masks, at either pole, the fervid sway 

Wherewith the earth is wheeled, 
Flaming, unwasting, in the slant sun's frory ray ? 

Is it the restless spirit 
That haunts the bosom of the universe, 

In void he doth inherit, 
Kindling the electric flames that thought and being 
nurse ? 

Is it a weird portent, 
Written in lightning on the living wall 

Of the far firmament, 
Pointing some world aghast to fate's impending fall ? 



THE NORTHERN LIGHTS. 43 

Is it the flushing flame 
Of some more fine ethereal sphere on fire, 

With radiant hue of shame 
Mantling the conscious heaven above the funeral 
pyre ? 

Is it the vivid beam 
Once fixed in splendor 'twixt the cherubim, 

Its winged Shekinah-gleam 
Lighting the lonely sky with awful sign of Him ? 



44 THE WOLVES' FEAST. 



THE WOLVES' FEAST. 

A little maid went tripping through the wood, 
Sunny, and sweet, and gay, in light or shade, 
Most like a gush of laughter, or a song. 

She and the world were young, that morning 
made, 
And they twain played together children-wise. 
The archer sun shot at her shafts of gold, 
And the maid caught them in her net of hair, 
And kept them to be sunshine round her head. 
The fragrant breezes blew into her face 
Out from the laughing heaven, like its own breaths, 
And she received them thence, and gave them back, 
Fragrance for fragrance. Overhead in glee 
The swinging branches clapped their leafy hands 
To cheer her ; and she, pleased with their applause, 
Ran like a spirit. Birds from every bough 
Saluted her their fellow, and her voice 
Rang birdlike back, in gracious mimicry, 



THE WOLVES' FEAST. 45 

Taking and giving welcome ; till at last, 

Tired with her too much gladness, she sat down 

Upon a mossy bank amid the wood, 

And sank in sleep — the sudden, utter lapse 

Of childhood in oblivion. So she lay, 

The basket by her side in which she bore 

His noon's refreshment to her father, where 

He swung his woodman's ax against the trees. 

He, by the dial of his appetite, 
Guessing it noon, with one more sturdy blow 
To sound of sudden hearty breath sent home, 
Drove deep the biting edge into the quick 
Heart of the wood, and left it fixed ; then turned 
And glanced along the twinkling path of green 
That led through forest to his cabin ; dwells 
A doubtful moment looking needfully ; 
Sees nothing that he seeks ; in doubt again, 
Takes the sun's height with practised eye, and notes 
How fall the shadows, wondering more and more 
To miss the coming of the little feet. 

With slow, suspicious circumspection now, 
The father in him roused to anxious fears, 



46 THE WOLVES' FEAST. 

He moves his steps to meet his child. He comes 
To that cool bank of moss whereon she sat, 
To find — no daughter. There her basket lay, 
Where the sleep-helpless hand had slacked its hold 
Upon it ; but the little hand was gone. 

Rapt in fixed fear and horrible suspense, 
He strains his eyes around to seize some hint 
Further of what mishap had fallen on her. 
Nothing — save a chance heap of withered leaves 
Beside, that mocked him with the shape and size 
And seeming of a little child's fresh grave. 
He stares vacantly at it, and the wind 
Moved it, or did it move from underneath ? 
A gentle undulation heaved the mound 
From head to foot. Then, as the slumberer turned 
Half on one side unconsciously, apart 
Fell the light coverlet of leaves, and forth 
A little aimless hand was flung to view, 
Grasping at nothing for an instant seen, 
Seen and forgotten, in a land of dreams. 

The father gave no pause to wonder ; stooped, 
Snatched up his child as from her grave, and ran, 



THE WOLVES' FEAST. 47 

Ran with prone speed and breathlessly, 
And hid his darling in her mother's arms. 
Then, without stay for question or reply, 
Straight he sped back to that same bank of moss 
Where, adding leaves, he heaped the mound again 
With heed, and brought it to the shape and size 
And seeming of a little child's fresh grave. 
So done, he chose, amid the massy top 
Of a full-foliaged maple standing nigh, 
A seat where, masked from sight, he might at- 
tend 
What sequel, if some sequel, should ensue. 

With long leap, leisurely, a file of wolves, 
As to some goal, drew winding through the wood, 
And paused beside the mound. One seemed to 

guide, 
And the rest heeded. These, in grim array, 
Ranged in a row of expectation sat, 
Gaunt guests, but biding till the feast were served. 
Then he that seemed to guide removed the leaves 
With ceremony — to find his feast was flown. 
He crouched in craven fear at that surprise, 
Piteously moaning ; but a dismal howl 



48 THE WOLVES' FEAST. 

Of grief and of revenge and ravin foiled 
Arising, those fell brethren of the wood 
Set on him all together, tooth and claw, 
And in one moment rent him limb from limb. 

Feasted, but not with food, they went away. 



THE SONG OF RUNAWAY POND. 49 



THE SONG OF RUNAWAY POND. 



" Long Pond, or, as it is now commonly called, ' Runaway Pond,' was 
formerly situated on the summit of a hill in the towns of Glover and Greens- 
borough, Vt., and was one of the sources of Lamoille River. In June, 1810, an 
attempt was made to open an oudet from it to Barton River on the north, when 
the whole waters of the pond, which was one and a half miles long and half a mile 
wide, tore their way through the quicksand, which was only separated by a thin 
stratum of clay from the pond, and advanced in a wall from sixty to seventy feet 
high and twenty rods wide, carrying before them mills, houses, barns, fences, 
forests, cattle, horses, and sheep, levelling the hills and filling up the valleys till 
they reached Lake Memphremagog, twenty-seven miles distant, in about six hours 
from the time they left the pond. The inhabitants had just sufficient notice to 
escape with their lives." — New American Cyclopcedia, vol. xvi., Art. Vermont. 



I. 

My throne is on the mountain, and underneath my 

feet 
The pulses of the fountain of youth eternal 

beat ; 
For what Adam's sons and daughters have sought 

the world around, 
Beneath my own bright waters and without quest 

I found. 
3 



50 THE SONG OF RUNAWAY POND. 

So no rude river rushes with noise athwart my 

dreams, 
But my spring within me gushes, and I sit above 

the streams ; 
And my ancient heart rejoices, and I feel as young 

as a boy, 
I, that heard when the stars and the voices sang 

together and shouted for joy. 



I am kindred with earth and with ocean, I'm in 
league with the sun and the sky, 

Our couriers are ever in motion — they run, and they 
fall, and they fly ; 

A rivulet runs with a greeting to the restless, im- 
perious sea, 

He runs his message repeating in the ear of the 
earth for me. 



I signal the sun in the morning with a waft from my 

bright water- woof, 
It springs upward on pinions of scorning, and soars 

to the sky's azure roof ; 



THE SONG OF RUNAWAY POND. 5* 

It meets a cloud-argosy sailing with news from the 

much-seeing main, 
And returns, with instinct unfailing, in a parachute 

fall of rain. 



I have held my changeless station six thousand 

changeful years, 
And each insect generation of men, with their hopes 

and fears, 
Has swarmed into sudden existence, and fretting its 

little day, 
With a hopeless wail for resistance, has been whirled 

in a moment away, 



While I in my prophet-trances have felt them come 

and go 
But as tripping troops of fancies that huddle when 

breezes blow, 
And I ripple in wavelets of laughter, and I hug the 

laughter down, 
The sunshine shimmering after, till I gleam all 

through like a crown. 



5 2 THE SONG OF \R UNA WA Y POND. 

So I dwell apart from the riot and noise of men's 

tongues and their deeds, 
At ease in long sabbaths of quiet and the strength 

which tranquillity breeds ; 
And my ancient heart rejoices, and I feel as young 

as a boy, 
I, that heard when the stars and the voices sang 

together and shouted for joy. 



ii. 

But a strange, incredible rumor is brought me now 

and again 
Of some wild, presumptuous humor that has taken 

the children of men. 
Do they deem that they will subdue me to run at 

their bidding and beck ? 
A nameless tremor thrills through me as I think of 

the ruin and wreck 

I will visit on them in the hour when they shatter 

the holy vase 
Where, held in the hand of His power, I have lain in 

the light of His face. 



THE SONG OF RUNAWAY POND. 53 

Already I hear them approaching, the impious race 

of mankind, 
With stroke after stroke encroaching on my rest with 

purposes blind. 



They are near, and nearer, the vessel of clay that 

encloses me round ; 
I rouse, and I writhe, and I wrestle, I shudder and 

shake at the sound ! 
They have reached it, they smote it, they break it — 

now, now is my moment of wrath ; 
Woe, woe to the mortals that wake it, and that stand 

in my terrible path ! 



I tower on a swell oceanic, I swing my flood-gates 

wide, 
I stand in a stature Titanic, I take one dreadful 

stride — 
Down, down with a crash like the thunder, on, on 

with the hurricane's roar, 
As his bars had been broken asunder, and ocean 

were shocking the shore. 



54 THE SONG OF RUNAWAY POND. 

I roll like a torrent Atlantic over hill and valley and 
wood ; 

I will wreak a vengeance gigantic on man and his 
puny brood. 

Oh ! 'tis joy to poise me impending one instant be- 
fore I fall, 

With a fury that mocks his defending, on his homes 
and his hopes and his all. 



How this forest bends beneath me ! I will pluck it 

from the earth, 
And its garland boughs shall wreathe me for the 

revel of my mirth. 
I am glad and mad with this rattle and roar of my 

headlong tide ; 
I will scoop up their sheep and their cattle, and 

give them a cataract ride. 



Aha! I see they have captured my kinsman, and 

set him in thrall, 
But he hearkens and hears me enraptured, as I rush 

to his rescue and call, 



THE SONG OF RUNAWAY POND. 55 

And call aloud, with a clashing of the spears of my 

warrior waves, 
On-pouring, deep-roaring, high-dashing, booming 

doom in all ears but the slave's. 



So forward with flock, herd, and dwelling, with mill 

and harvest and wood, 
All atilt on the crests of my swelling, and tossed on 

the horns of my flood, 
Till I come where the famished abysses wait agape 

with their horrible jaws, 
And welcomed with kisses and hisses, I give them a 

glut for their maws. 



Now light like a cavalcade springing to the front of 
the battle with speed, 

Each rider his bridle-rein flinging on the thunder- 
clad neck of his steed, — 

But I see my vanguard is nearing a headland, massy 
and steep, 

And I choose to wheel careering with a wide and 
winding sweep. 



56 THE SONG OF RUNAWAY POND. 

And here a sentinel mountain challenges me with a 
frown, 

But I curl my crest like a fountain and I dash the 
sentinel down, 

And over the slope of his shoulder, and into the sub- 
ject plain, 

With a billowy bound the bolder, I spring to my 
path again. 



Surely better than listless contentment to be lulled 

in the lap of my hill, 
Is this rush of resistless resentment, this march of 

omnipotent will. 
I had dreamed not the power, the glory, of a tumult 

of motion and noise, 
This race is the pride of my story, this roar is the 

crown of my joys. 



But I see the gleam of the waters on Memphrema- 

gog's brow ; 
I have emptied my vial of slaughters, I am ready for 

peace again now : 



THE SONG OF RUNAWAY POND. S7 

I am coming, my sister, behold me, — let me sink 

upon your breast, 
Once open your arms to enfold me, and I shall not 

break your rest. 

3* 



58 AUGURIES. 



AUGURIES. 

New Year's Morn, 1877. 

Lo, mingling with the morning's pleasant glory- 
In the fresh East there hangs an alien light — 

A dull red gleam of token sad and gory, 

Portending war and war's wide-wasting blight ! 
This New Year's dawn it draws the wistful sight 

Of half the expectant nations ; there it glows 

Round from the southward toward the Arctic 
night, 

Glooming the Mediterranean, while it throws 

Fiercely a sullen flame o'er Scandinavian snows. 

It spans mid-Europe, and the continent 

Glimmers beneath the vast sepulchral glare ; 

The Saracen is lighted in his tent, 

And sees his shadow at his evening prayer ; 
Grimly it spreads to where the Russian bear 



AUGURIES. 59 

Couches in snows the secret of his power ; 

The British lion from his island lair 
Winks and returns the menace with a glower, 
And the French eagle bides the portents of the hour. 

By thousand leagues of ocean poured between, 
God guards thee safe, my country, from the bale ; 

No brand of conflagration kindling keen, 
Borne on the breast of any westward gale, 
Can reach thee, fenced within thy watery pale ; 

Let Europe all flame unto flagrant skies 

That whelm her subject lands with fiery hail, 

Here thou mayst sit lifting untroubled eyes 

Up to a heaven o'er which pure light of promise lies. 

But what if fire within thy heart be pent ! 

What if, my country, though thy heaven be fair, 
Volcano rouse, and, forcing hideous vent 

Through thy torn bosom to the upper air, 

In self-engendered flames enwrap thee there ! 
That were worse ruin : that thy God forefend ! 

Quench the quick spirit of fire within thee ! Spare 
Lava at least fed from thyself, to send 
Redoubling flood on flood to waste thee without end ! 



6o THE PREPARATION. 



THE PREPARATION. 

" The voice of him that crieth in the wilderness, Prepare ye the way of the Lord, 
make straight in the desert a highway for our God. Every valley shall be exalted, 
and every mountain and hill shall be made low : and the crooked shall be made 
straight and the rough places plain : and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed." 
— Old Testament. 

As, when a sovereign of the Orient moves 
With stately pomp of progress through his land, 
And heralds cry before him, where he goes : 
" Cast up a highway for the advancing king ! " 
The obsequious provinces, with eager speed, 
Throng to the pageant's van from every side, 
Pluck up the rooted forests from their seats, 
Bind torrent streams with bridges, as with chains, 
Lift up the valleys and bow down the hills, 
To smooth a broad access to that array ; 
So chosen Hebrew, Greek cosmopolite, 
And subjugating Roman joined their part 
With other names besides forgotten now, 
Or less renowned — Egyptian, Canaanite, 
Assyrian, Median, Persian — to prepare 



THE PREPARATION. 6 1 

From age to age a wide historic way, 

Measuring full many a desert tract of time, 

Spanning full many a secular abyss — 

Blight, famine, plague, earthquake, and war, and 

waste — 
Before the coming of the King of kings. 



62 OUR CHRISTMAS MORN. 



OUR CHRISTMAS MORN. 

With joy too deep for mirth, for sensual feast, 
And echoing laughter — joy akin to tears, 
And kindly to kind deeds, and to such thought 
As turns to love, and to such love as turns 
To prayer, and is returned in love again 
Forever — so we hail our Christmas morn ! 

O day, sweet, if for but the gracious guile 
We force on fancy to believe it once 
Beheld the birth of Christ, how should we miss 
The meaning of the gospel of thy dawn, 
To let it usher in a time for us 
Of only this world's gladness ! Not for this 
Was that child born, in after years the Man 
Of sorrows, and the Intimate of grief — 
To fill void mouths the more with vulgar cheer, 
And flood waste hearts with wassail for a day : 
They teach us Christmas lore who know not Christ ! 



OUR CHRISTMAS MORN. 63 

O Christ ! Teach us thyself how we shall best 
Honor thy birthday, year by year, when we 
Are born ourselves therein anew to lives 
Like thine, of exile even, or sacrifice, 
Of toils and tears, to save the souls of men ! 



64 THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW. 



THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW. 

Last night at twelve, amid the knee-deep snows, 
A child of Time accepted his repose, — 
The eighteen hundred fifty-sixth of grace, 
With sudden chance, fell forward on his face. 

Solemn and slow the winter sun had gone, 
Sailing full early for the port of dawn ; 
Across broad zones of the ethereal sea, 
With even rate he voyaged far and free, 
While the cone-shadow of the earth swept round 
The other half of heaven's embracing bound — 
A weird and mystic dial-hand to mark, 
From orb to orb, along a shuddering arc, 
Measured to music of the sphery chime, 
The noiseless process of eternal time. 

I walked in doubt and dread — as if the weight 
Of all the impending heaven upon me sate : 



THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW. 65 

The crisp snow creaked, my breath pushed stiffly 

out, 
And keen frost-sparkles merrily glanced about ; 
The clear cold stars reached down a frory ray, 
Like a fine icicle accrete of spray, 
That pricked my blood with many a light attack 
Of Lilliput lances in my front and back. 
For every several nerve alive to feel, 
The eager season had some shrewd appeal. 

And so the fields I gained, and there I found 
The fresh dry snow laid by that querulous sound, 
And all grew still as death. Within my breast 
Hushing the noisy heart-beat on I pressed. 

The punctual shadow to the summit drew ; 
Twelve strokes of lighter silence fell like dew. 
Audible to the spirit, and, behold, 
The vision of the Dead Year was unrolled. 
Full-length he leaned aslant the slumbering 

snow, 
Which clad all things in Chinese weeds of woe, 
Easing his fall — that not a breath might mar 
The listening awe that yearned from snow to star. 



66 THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW. 

But over him doth a fair spirit smile, 
As fain all grief with gladness to beguile ; 
A torch he bears to light the world anew — 
O blithe Young Year, but keep thy promise true J 



A NEW YEAR'S TRIFLE. 67 



A NEW YEAR'S TRIFLE. 

What a dreary, sad old father 
Old Father Time must be, 

No voices round his hearth-stone, 
No children on his knee ! 

The little infant seconds 
And minutes cannot stay, 

They breathe their breath of being, 
And go the breathless way. 

The hours and days grow older, 
But have a hastening date, 

They die before their childhood, 
And choose a changeless state. 

The weeks and months a little 
Weep for their kindred dead, 

Then yield themselves to stillness, 
And droop the dying head. 



68 A NEW YEAR'S TRIFLE. 

A very sad old father 

Old Father Time must be, 

No voices round his hearth-stone 
No children on his knee ! 



DEDICATED. 69 



DEDICATED. 

Book of page inviolate, 
Thee I seal and consecrate ; 
Sacred thou henceforward art 
Unto scriptures of the heart. 

Fair and innocent thy look, 
Leaves unwritten, little book ; 
Written all thy leaves, be thou 
Innocently fair as now! 

Innocently fair, but then 
Stored and storied from the pen, 
Vow of friendship, counsel sage, 
Subtle spell on every page. 

Each white leaf upturn its face 
With a meek, imploring grace, 
Pray who writes bestow good care 
Not to fleck what now is fair. 



70 DEDICATED. 

Little book, I charge thee be 
Cheer to her that chose out thee ; 
Comfort her with hand and token, 
Signature of faith unbroken. 

Hearken, book, a secret hear, 
Low, bend low, thy hoarding ear, 
Close, keep close, what thee I tell, 
Or ensure thou use it well ! 

Whose thou art, her breast within, 
Hides a book to thee a twin ; 
Many a page is virgin still, 
She may write there what she will. 

Tell no other, but tell her ; 
Haste to tell, and not defer ; 
Tell her, bid her, beg, conjure, — 
Make those living scriptures pure ! 

Thou wilt perish by and by, 
Little book, with things that die ; 
That, with things that live forever, 
Will abide, to perish never, — 



DEDICATED. 7* 

Aye, with all its scriptures clear, 
Rescued from the burning sphere, 
Will, with her that owns it, go 
Endless ways in weal or woe. 

Faithful monitor be thou ; 
Sometimes, when she bends her brow 
Over thee to con the signs, 
Show her this between the lines. 



72 IN AN ALBUM. 



IN AN ALBUM. 

As flower new-born might spring to light 
Amid sweet peers of earlier prime, 

Yet write not on its frail leaves bright 
Romancing of its father clime ; 

As star might waken in the heaven 
Where sister stars have waked for aye, 

And, watching in the wakeful even, 

Reveal not whence she brought her ray: 

So, gentle lady, so this trace — 
Of hand that may trail nevermore 

Its simple tracery, to chase, 

One time perhaps your memory o'er, 

Forms that from long, long flitted days, 
When thought was young and love was deep, 

Come dimmest, sweetest through the maze 
And melt into the heaven you weep — 



IN AN ALBUM. 73 

So, haply, so this still sad sign 
Yet to your casting thought shall give 

No image of the strange face mine 
To make my poor remembrance live ! 
4 



74 HOW WE CAME TOGETHER. 



HOW WE CAME TOGETHER. 

Thorwaldsex's Lion, gray and grim, 

Rock in his rocky lair, 
On who would rend his lily from him, 

Glowered out with dying glare. 

I mused awhile the sculptured stone, 

My pilgrim staff in hand , 
Then turned to hold my way alone, 

And lone, from land to land. 

But God had other hap in store : 

Even as I turned I met 
A manly eye ne'er seen before — 

I seem to see it yet ! 

Vanish the changeful years between, 
Like morning-smitten rack ; 

As, morning-like, that crescent scene 
Comes dawning swiftly back. 



HOW WE CAME TOGETHER. 75 

Again, above, that mellow noon 
And soft Swiss heaven doth yearn ; 

Frowns still on us in pilgrim shoon 
The Lion of Lucerne. 

Once more each other's hands we take, 

The pass-words fly betwixt ; 
Though slack the speed that speech may make, 

When heart with heart is mixed. 

I see the green Swiss lake asleep 

With Righi in her dream ; 
We cross the lake, we climb the steep 

To watch the world agleam. 

The paths are many up the slope, 

And many of the mind ; 
We catch the flying clue of hope, 

And wander where they wind. 

The paths are fresh, the pastures green, 

In walk or talk traversed ; 
The Alpland meadow's grassy sheen 

With many a streamlet nursed, 



76 HOW WE CAME TOGETHER. 

And the fair meadows of the soul 

Forever fresh with streams 
From the long heights of youth that roll, 

The Righi-Culm of dreams. 

We speak of summits hard to gain, 
And, gained, still hard to keep ; 

Of pleasure bought with glorious pain, 
Of tears 'twas heaven to weep ; 

And of a blessed Heavenly Friend 
Who, struggling with us still, 

Would break the blows else like to bend 
The lonely human will ; 

Or with some sudden vital touch, 

At pinch of sorest need, 
Would lift our little strength to much, 

And energize our deed. 

Our talk flows on, through strain or rest, 

As up the steep we go ; 
Each untried track of thought seems best 

In hope's prelusive glow. 



HOW WE CAME TOGETHER. 77 

We loiter while the sun makes haste, 

But we shall yet sit down 
To watch the gleams of sunset chased 

From mountain crown to crown. 

Too long, too late — the splendor went 

Or e'er we reached the goal ; 
But a splendor had dawned that will never be spent 

That day on either soul ! 



7 8 TRANSFIGURED. 



TRANSFIGURED. 

Pure after pain, the earth refined away, 
Serenely young, renewed in maiden bloom, 

Her fair hands folded on her heart, she lay 
In gentle death, and sanctified the room. 

The bright translucent clay to which she turned, 
The delicate sculpture's reasserted grace, 

The pure white sheen that on her forehead burned 
And fixed the glow of sainthood in her face, — 

These traits of clear revival after death, 

This flicker of refusal to decay, 
We took for sign of soul surviving breath, 

And seal of resurrection on the clay. 

She ceased as doth a benediction cease, 

Her parting breath pronounced the low amen 

To life's long toil to frame the whisper, Peace — 
The whisper perfect, wherefore breathe again ? 



DESIDERIUM. 79 



DESIDERIUM. 

The shattered water plashes down the ledge ; 

The long ledge slants and bends between its 
walls, 
And shoots the current over many an edge 

Of shelvy rock, in thin and foamy falls, — 
With the same streaming light and numerous 

sound, 
As when his musing way he duly hither wound. 

Up by this path along the streamlet's brink, 
Into the cool ravine his footsteps wore ; 

That was in other days — I bow and think 
In sadness of the wealthy days of yore, 

The fair far days, so wholly gone away, 

When love, and hope, and youth before us boundless 
lay. 

He was a kind of genius of the glen, 

The soul of sunshine in its heart of gloom ; 



80 DESIDERIUM. 

Nature's great mansion, wide to other men, 

Here for the gentlest guest reserved a room, 
Where she, in secret from the general throng, 
Welcomed him fleeing oft and cheered him lingering 
long. 

But hospitable Nature seeks him now 

Through her wide halls or cloistered cells in vain ; 
The wistful face, the early wrinkled brow, 

The peace that touched and purified the pain, 
The slender form, dilate with noble thought, 
The woman's welcoming smile for all fair things he 
brought ; 

The light, quick step, elastic but not strong, 

Alert with springing spirit and tempered nerve — 

Type of the heart direct that sped along 
Swiftly where duty led, and did not swerve 

For count of odds, or dread of earthly loss, 

Buoyed with the costliest strength to bear the heavi- 
est cross ; 

These tokens of that gracious presence here, 
O Nature, you and I together mourn ; 



DESIDERIUM. 8 1 

But you and I, O Nature, have our cheer 

Concerning him that helps our loss be borne — 
You mould his dust to keepsake grass and flower, 
What warmed his dust moulds me to forms of finer 
power. 



82 A REMEMBERED TEACHER. 



A REMEMBERED TEACHER. 

I see him now, importunate, eager, bold 
To push for truth, as most to push for gold ; 
Young then, with youth's fine scorn of consequence 
He weighed no whither, so he knew his whence — 
Asked only, but asked hard, Is it a fact ? 
That point well sure, deemed then he nothing lacked ; 
Truth was from God, she could not lead astray ; 
Fearlessly glad he walked in Truth's highway. 

Who joined him there, had fellow stout to cheer ; 
Who crossed, met foe behooved his weal to fear ; 
His quick, keen, urgent, sinewy, certain thrust 
Those knights well knew who felt it in the joust. 

Ideal-Christian teacher, master, man, 
Severely sweet, a gracious Puritan, 
Beyond my praise to-day, beyond their blame, 
He spurs me yet with his remembered name ! 



LIFE OF HIS LIFE. 83 



LIFE OF HIS LIFE. 

No barren mere mechanic art 

The teacher's, his no casual touch 

Of mind to mind, that may impart 
A sum of knowledge, such or such. 

Far other worth, and other cost, 
His high vicarious task implies ; 

He must himself be sunk and lost 
To make his fellow strong and wise. 

Dissolved, diffused, and ambient, 
Like an involving atmosphere, 

An influence and an element 

To work a work and not appear, 

The teacher born from God to teach, 
About his pupils, hid from sight, 

Broods, and invests them, moulding each 
With plastic pressure day and night. 



84 LIFE OF HIS LIFE. 

A living and life-giving force, 

Oft present most when most unguessed, 
A hidden or unheeded source 

Supplied to many a distant breast, 

Through cunning conduits flowing power, 
Fresh power to think, to will, to do, 

And meet the challenge of the hour, 
Whatever that may summon to — 

But signs still fail and leave untold 
What the true teacher is to us, 

The transformation manifold 
He undergoes, becoming thus 

A spur forever in the side, 

A mettle mingled with the blood, 

And in the ear, to cheer or chide, 
A haunting voice well understood ; 

A pang of passionate desire 

To end the path and gain the goal, 

A seed of quick and quenchless fire, 
A touch of torment to the soul — 



LIFE OF HIS LIFE. 85 

Torment she loves, and would not miss, 

The anguish of impossible aims, 
Ennobling thirst for nobler bliss 

That burns her with immortal flames. 

Such forms of force the teacher is, 

The teacher by all instinct such; 
A god-like, awful office his, 

The gift of the vivific touch. 

Life of his life he takes to give, 

As a creator gives, to men ; 
But first they too themselves must live, 

And answer life with life again. 

Then, as two sparks to mate endowed, 
Each to the other in flash of flame 

Leap and embrace from cloud to cloud, 
Instantly true to kindred claim, 

So the true pupil springs to take 

What springs to give the teacher true ; 

Electric circuit met they make, 

And the soul's lightning flashes through. 



86 a REGRET. 



A REGRET. 

I would I were alumnus here to-day ! 
I would these pleasant haunts of task or play- 
Were eloquent to me of vanished youth, 
And youth's high heart and gallant quest of truth ! 
I w T ould the gentle genius of the place 
Might yield for once a friendly guest the grace 
To greet him son, bid him here cease to roam 
And rest him here, again a child at home ! 
How would I grasp the old familiar hands, 
How join with joy the old congenial bands 
Of choicer souls, the noble brotherhood 
Who made each other's gain their common good 

At every turn a quicker beat of heart 
To some new touch of auld lang syne should start ; 
No spot of earth, no space of summer sky 
That should not look the look of days gone by. 
The walks where we at eve together strayed, 
The cheerful meadow, melancholy shade, 



A REGRET. 87 

The slope of hill, the solemn river-marge, 
The sweep of valley landscape fair and large — 
All these bright aspects should bring back the time 
When life with Nature beat to perfect rhyme. 
The dear old buildings, bare to alien eyes, 
Should throng their ancient fronts with memories ; 
Casement, and coigne, each doorway's square recess, 
Cornice, and cope, and cupola no less, 
Like some gray Gothic pile's, should seem to swarm 
With storied emblem quaint, and carven form. 

Fair genius of the spot, pray whisper low 
A hint to me of what I long to know ; 
Unbind your breast to me, and part your store 
Of all this place's legendary lore ; 
The blind tradition you so blithely read 
Is traced in lines that mock my utmost heed. 

Alas ! but nay, my conjuration fails ; 
I win from him not one of all his tales; 
Fast locked he keeps his legendary lore, 
Still mute to me, however I implore. 
Alone I walk amid a viewless throng, 
Unhearing hearken to a silent song. 



88 THE OPEN GUILD OF LETTERS. 



THE OPEN GUILD OF LETTERS. 

THE OLD MEMBERS TO THE NEW. 

We greet you of us with heart-felt applause, 
We hail you brothers in a common cause. 
One is the spirit, yours, who give your gain, 
And ours, who give unhoarded heart and brain, 
To endow the great young future at our door 
With mind more skill, with knowledge ampler store. 
We work together in that goodly guild 
And ancient fellowship of letters, filled 
With the fine ardor that Erasmus knew, 
The breath of great desire that Milton drew. 

Joyful build ye your monuments, to stand 
Long as the date lasts of your native land. 
There is no more immortal mortal thought 
Than inspiration to this fashion wrought. 
Oxford and Cambridge, through their long young 

eld, 
The placid levels of calm peace have held, 



THE OPEN GUILD OF LETTERS. 89 

While round them dynasties have gone to doom, 
Or commonwealth exchanged with kingdom room. 
The Sorbonne, in its ancient neighborhood, 
Safe in the common awe, untouched has stood, 
Full in the central vortex of the wild 
Whirlwind of revolution, and has smiled, 
Seeing the pillared fabric of the state, 
Spurned from the deep foundations where it sate, 
Spin like a bauble in the eddying air, 
Vanish to wrack amid the tempest there, — 
And steadfast as a star the light has shone 
That blazons still the name of De Sorbonne. 

Who founds a school of learning gifts his 
name 
With most sure perpetuity of fame ; 
When will the faithful fond tradition fail 
That links its founder with the fame of Yale? 
How else could he who gave his name to Brown 
Have gained the lease he holds of long renown ? 
Harvard and Phillips — blithe their memory springs 
And shames the oblivion of coeval kings ; 
And fresh his leaf on Vassar's brow shall bide, 
Securely charmed from withering, when the pride 



90 THE OPEN GUILD OF LETTERS. 

Of many a statesman's, many a soldier's bay, 
Green on their foreheads now, has passed away. 

Though spoken not, men yet might guess the 
name — 
No name but one would match the mighty fame — 
A patriot statesman's, whose career of power 
Still makes his alma mater's richest dower. 
Could one but limn him, featured like the god 
That erst Olympus wielded with his nod, 
But bid once more the thunders of that voice 
Make traitors tremble, patriot hearts rejoice, 
That form august, that kingly, awful mien 
Could one but conjure back upon the scene, 
Show us again the grave, majestic gait, 
Steadfast and slow, in which he bore the State, 
In which the growing State Christopherus bore, 
With faithful, patient strength, from shore to shore, 
Across the heady current of an age 
That stormed and fumed, with ineffectual rage, 
Eager to overturn, to overwhelm 
The trembling balanced hopes of freedom's realm, — 
No tongue would falter from the full acclaim, 
Webster ! — one voice, and one centennial name. 



THE OPEN GUILD OF LETTERS. 9* 

He nursed his giant boyhood at the breast 
Of mountains in our Alpland of the West, 
Fit nurture seemed it, when he came to tower 
A mountain among men, a peak of power, 
That took the scar of thunder, scath of storm, 
Brand of live lightning, with his lordly form, 
But stood despite, nay, brother to the cloud, 
Himself seemed master of the tempest loud, 
Hurling his bolts, and flashing far the blade 
Of vivid vengeance that his genius swayed. 
Yet oftenest fixed in mountainous repose — 
As when Mont Blanc uplifts his scalp of snows 
In the white sunshine and the blinding sky, 
Seems still to frown, but puts his thunder by — 
He loved at peace to dwell among his kind, 
Whom well that bodeful brow to peace inclined. 

Though false unkind refractions warp the 
ray 
By which they read his character to-day, 
Yet was this man our greatest, since the sun 
Missed to survey the mould of Washington. 
But had no rural Dartmouth hard beside 
His father's stubborn acres, opened wide 



92 THE OPEN GUILD OF LETTERS. 

A door of opportunity and scope 

Before the brave old man's pathetic hope 

To raise his children's future chance somewhat 

Above the level of his lowly lot, — 

Perhaps instead of him they laid to sleep 

At Marshfield on the margin of the deep, 

The ocean nature by the ocean wave 

That kneels in ceaseless homage at his grave, 

The Atlantean shoulder bowed to bear 

The great weight of his country's cause and care, 

A mute, inglorious Webster now might lie, 

Dead and forgot beneath his natal sky. 

Aye, his best title to his noble name, 

The safest lodged from heirs to bring it shame, 

Lord Dartmouth in that namesake college won 

Which found in Webster fostering foster-son. 

So speed of God we give you, noble band, 
The good deeds prosper which your hearts have 

planned ! 
Like the divining-rod they feigned of old 
Instinct with sense for feeling hidden gold, 
The seats of learning which you thus shall found 
Will range and search through all the region round, 



THE OPEN GUILD OF LETTERS. 93 

With a tentacular fine tact, to fine- 
Treasures more fair of else unwakened mind, — ■ 
The quest still thriving after you have gone, 
Till that pure day of perfect knowledge dawn. 



94 COURAGE. 



COURAGE. 

AN EPIGRAM . 

Soldiers twain stood facing danger, 
Side by side, alone and still ; 

Bold was one, to fear a stranger, 
Light of thought as stout of will. 

But the other, grave and serious, 
Deeply pondered where he stood, 

Felt the spell of the mysterious 
Overshadowing neighborhood 

Of the mortal menace hidden 

In that moment's sudden chance ; 

Till the throng of thoughts unbidden 
Trampled white his countenance. 

Then his comrade marked his pallor 
And a rallying charge he made, 

Out of his light-hearted valor 

Lightly spoken, " You're afraid ! " 



COURAGE. 95 

" True, my friend," with blanched lips said he ; 
" I have fear as you have none ; 
But I stand here, staunch and steady, — 
You, with half my fear, would run ! " 



9^ SUGGESTION. 



SUGGESTION 



of a stanza to stand as the concluding one to 
bryant's "june." 



Then gently o'er their hearts at last 
A soothing change should steal — 
The darkness of the pensive past 
A sense like dawn should feel ; 
The tearful memory of their friend 
In tranquil tearful hope should end, 

The scene a scene reveal, 
Where breeze and song and light and bloom 
Have found a land without a tomb. 



TRANSLATION OF HOMER. 97 



EXPERIMENTS IN LITERAL TRANSLA- 
TION OF HOMER. 

i. 

The anger, goddess, sing, of Peleus' son, 
Achilles, — anger dire, that on the Greeks 
Brought myriad woes, and many mighty souls 
Too soon of heroes unto Hades sent, 
And gave themselves a ravin to the dogs 
And to all birds of prey — hovvbeit the will 
Of Zeus fulfilled itself — even from the time 
That first they two, Atrides, king of men, 
And high Achilles, wrangling fell apart. 

Iliad, I. 1-7. 

2. 

Zeus spake, and with his dark brows gave the 
nod : 
The ambrosial locks therewith streamed from the 
king's 
5 



98 TRANSLATION OF HOMER. 

Immortal head ; Olympus great it shook. 
These two, thus having counselled, parted ; she 
Leapt thereupon into the deep sea-brine 
From bright Olympus — to his dwelling Zeus. 
The gods together all rose from their seats 
Before their sire, nor any durst abide 
Him coming, but they all to meet him stood. 
So he there sat him down upon his throne ; 
Nor seeing him was Here not aware 
That with him had deliberated plans 
The daughter of the Ancient of the sea, 
Thetis of silver foot. With cutting words, 
Straightway the son of Kronos, Zeus, she hailed. 

Iliad, I. 528-539. 



He spake ; the goddess, white-armed Here, 
smiled ; 
And smiling she accepted with her hand 
The goblet from her son. But he from right 
To left to all the other gods poured out 
Sweet nectar, drawing from the mixing-bowl : 
And inextinguishable laughter then was roused 



TRANSLATION OF HOMER. 99 

Among the blessed gods, when they beheld 
Hephaestus brisking through the palace halls. 

So all day long unto the setting sun 
They feasted then, nor of an equal feast 
Failed the desire in aught, not of the harp 
Exceeding beautiful which Phoebus held, 
Or of the Muses who with beautiful voice 
Alternate sang responsive each to each. 
But when the sun's resplendent light was set, 
Desiring to lie down they homeward went, 
Each where for each the far-renowned lame 
Hephaestus built a house with cunning skill. 
The Olympian Flasher of the Lightning, Zeus, 
Went to his couch where erst he wont to lie 
When sweet sleep came on him ; ascending there 
He slept, and Here, golden-throned, beside. 

Iliad, I. 595-611. 



The rest sat down, and in the seats were quelled. 
Thersites only still kept clamoring on, 
Licentious-tongued ; who many a shameless phrase 



100 TRANSLATION OF HOMER. 

Knew in his mind, hap-hazard, lawlessly 

To brawl with kings — whate'er might seem to 

him 
To be droll for the Greeks. The ugliest man 
That came to Ilium ; bandy-legged he was, 
Lame in one foot ; and his bent shoulders twain 
Hugged o'er his chest together, while above 
Peaked of head was he, and thereupon 
A thin-worn plush of flossy hair adhered. 

Iliad, II. 21 1-2 19. 



5- 



As when upon a many-echoing shore, 
Billow fast following billow of the sea 
Is roused beneath the thronging western wind, 
Upon the deep at first it towers its height, 
And next, shattered against the continent, booms 
Mightily, and round the crags its curling crest 
Uprears, and spouts its spray of brine afar, 
So ranks fast following ranks of Danaans then 
Ceaselessly on and on thronged to the war. 

Iliad, IV. 422-428. 



TRANSLATION OF HOMER. IOI 



6. 



So having said, resplendent Hector reached 
To take his child. But backward he, the child, 
Toward the fair-girdled nurse's bosom drew, 
Crying, abashed at the dear father's looks, 
And frightened by his mail ; he saw the crest 
Of horse-hair from the summit of the helm 
Terribly waving, eyeing it ; outright 
Both the dear father and queen-mother laughed. 
Straight from his head resplendent Hector took 
The helm, and placed it glittering on the ground. 
When he besides had kissed his darling son 
And tossed him in his hands, alike to Zeus 
And to the other gods praying, he spoke : 

So having said, he gave into the hands 
Of the dear wife his boy ; she tearfully 
Smiling, to her sweet bosom took him then. 
Regarding her the husband pitied her ; 
Both with his hand he soothed her, and he spoke. 

Iliad, VI. 466-475, 482-485. 



102 A SABBATH AT SEA. 



A SABBATH AT SEA. 

The Voice that walked o'er Galilee 
Hath spoken from on high ; 

The sky keeps sabbath with the sea, 
The air with sea and sky. 

Thine, Lord, is this sabbatic sky, 

Thine this sabbatic sea, 
This broad sabbatic air bears by 

Burdens of rest from Thee. 

To this deep sabbath flowing round 

And o'er and under me, 
My soul within her mystic bound 

Answers, as sea to sea. 

Voice, flown from Galilee to heaven ! 

That, dropping chrismal speech, 
Canst all day long and all the seven 

Sabbatic gospels preach, — 



A SABBATH AT SEA. 103 

Thanks yet for this pacific hour 

Of Sabbath on the sea — 
To feel the breathing rest of power 

Is strength and rest to me. 



104 THE CLEAR PEARL. 



THE CLEAR PEARL. 

Each heart is shrouded many-fold from all 
Save her own introspections, and the pure 
All-seeing. Nothing intercepts that sight, 
Watching the innermost deeps ; but clouds of sin, 
The false reflexes of her self-deceit, 
The uncertain shapes of passions, and the arts 
Of Satan have some power to warp and sway 
The heart's self -judgments ; yet, the wish being 

strong, 
The interior eye can pierce these shroudings, search 
The heart of the heart, and know the last intent. 

Oh, happy they who, searching so, discern, 
In the still depths of spirit, the clear pearl 
Of a true thought to do the will of God ! 



GRACE, NOT NATURE. 10$ 



GRACE, NOT NATURE. 

Not native gentleness of heart, 
Untaught submissiveness of will, 
The softly tones, the manner still, 

The yielding grace, the placid part °, 

Not perfect trace of lineament, 

Not rose on cheek, not light in eye, 
Or finished form, or bearing high, 

Or smiles or tears to others lent, 

Most profit ; but a tempest quelled, 
The rebel passions reason-swayed, 
A turbid spirit crystal made, 

And all self-centred, self -upheld. 

A human will divorced from sin ! 
Not over-prone to do the wrong, 
But merged in His to whom belong 

The worlds without, the soul "within. 
5* 



I06 V ANITAS VANITATUM. 



V ANITAS VANITATUM. 

There is no profit in the earth — the gems which 
seem 
Deceive us, with a mocking, borrowed beam. 
We are somnambulists \ this mortal state 
Is a sleep-walking only — we await 
The voice of God to rouse us ; — like a fool, 
Who sees the mirrored sky within a pool, 
And claps his hands, deeming the splendid scene 
Indeed beneath the wave, indeed terrene, 
Nor lifts one upward glance to where true heaven 
Is bright with sunny noon or starry even — 
Like him, we dive in a deceiving sea 
And grasp at pearls with, idiotic glee, 
Which are but imitations of the true, 
Deluded with a fashion and a hue ! 



CHRIST IN ME, 1 07 



CHRIST IN ME. 

Would I could make my fellows know 
All that in me my Lord hath wrought ! 

I strive in vain the truth to show, 
I cannot speak it as I ought. 

If, when men smite me, I am meek, 
If, when they wrong me, I forgive, 

And, wroth, refuse my wrath to wreak, — 
That, friends, is Christ doth in me live. 

If with the joyful I am glad, 

Or, apt in fellowship of cheer, 
I with the sorrowful am sad, 

Christ's, and not mine, that smile or tear. 

Nothing am I that is not he, 

Nothing of gracious, fair, or good ; 

Would I could make my fellows see 
The lovely secret as they should ! 



I08 GRACE FOR GRACE. 



GRACE FOR GRACE. 

A fair composure in the face, 
A musing mildness in the eye, 

Tones tuned to tenderness and grace, 
A smile like morning in the sky ; 

A floating motion, soft and slow, 

And rhythmic, like more perfect rest, 

Swayed as to some melodious flow 
Of silent music in the breast — 

Traits such as these, my darling, may, 
With mask of placid manner, hide 

Passions that, couchant beasts of prey, 
Do but their chance of springing bide. 

Well for us there is One can make 
These tigers of the bosom tame ; 

The sleek, sly, savage monsters take 
Their will of every lesser name. 



GRACE FOR GRACE. 109 

But his, but Christ's, has power to quell 
The lurking wildness in the blood, 

To quench the hidden fires of hell 
That inly brew the future flood. 

Bestead us, Christ ! We fain would learn 
The lesson none can teach but thee ; 

Us from our self-deceiving turn ; 
We tire of seeming and would be — 

Be gracious to the inmost core, 
In to the depths serene and sweet, 

Stilled to beneath where waves could roar, 
Or the world's tempests vainly beat ! 

So mastered, we shall meetly wear 
The soul's own beauty on the face, 

And what men find in us of fair, 

No mask, will be but grace for grace. 



HO AN IDEAL AND A WISH. 



AN IDEAL AND A WISH. 

Mild as a slowly northward-breathing air, 

Artless as very nature, and a heart, 
To kindly eyes, as clear, and free, and fair, 

In to the depths, as that Caribbean part 
Lucid and deep of the Atlantic sea ; 

Doing the stern, hard duties with no stern 
And hard but a most meek humility, 

Crowning their barren with such deeds as earn 
Leaf of fair guerdon freshening into green — 

All those dear gentle charities of life, 
Unmarked it may be, which have always been 

Downed with largest gift to grace the wife, 
Invest the mother with celestial seeming, 

And change the daughter to a ministering saint — 
Follower of Jesus, all things dross esteeming, 

Of costliest purchase, for the dear constraint 
Wherewith his love doth draw the loved one nearer, 

Living on earth the heavenly life he brought ; 
Even such be thou, and of such name the hearer, 

Receiving last the wreath for lowly conquerors 
wrought ! 



GOOD CHEER. HI 



GOOD CHEER. 

The little maid spoke arch and bright ; 

There's one, quoth she, of Christ's commands 
To me indeed a burden light — 

" Be of good cheer," the statute stands. 

She smiled into her father's face ; 

I kissed her for her bonny smile ; 
I tried to give her grace for grace 

Of gladness, but I sighed the while — 

Sighed, for I thought, What can she know, 

Dear little heart, of things to be ? 
Who gladdens but as blossoms blow, 

Or warble birds, unconsciously. 

" Be of good cheer " is not for her ; 

Is of good cheer — describes her state : 
How could she, if she would, demur, 

Who never was disconsolate ? 



112 GOOD CHEER. 

God bless thee, bless thee, darling child ! 

The years will teach thee fast enough 
How gentle weathers change to wild, 

And soft, smooth ways to hard and rough ! 

Joyful thou, not obedient, art ; 

The bidding finds thee forth on wing, 
Obeying but thine own free heart, 

And that blithe blood of life's young spring 

Bright-hearted welcomer of fate, 
Not always wilt thou thus prevail ; 

Also to thee, or soon or late, 

Those vital springs of joy will fail. 

Then of good cheer to be, when all 
Within, without, is dark of cheer, 

Yet the same voice, the still, the small, 
In the same whisper at thine ear, 

" Be of good cheer," saith, calm and mild, 
But calm and strong to be obeyed — 

That Christ may crown thee thus, my child, 
I have this silent moment prayed. 



TIDES. 113 



TIDES. 

As when the sea swells, lifted by the moon, 
And pours, in one wide cataract, to the shore, 
Then the precipitant waters, at each door 

Of inlet to the mainland, importune 

To be admitted, and, admitted, soon 

Brim creek and bay with ocean running o'er, 
Till their desirous banks can bound no more, 

And sit content but to contain the boon ; 

Yet haply, here or there, some sluiceway sealed 

Might interpose inhospitable bar 

To the sea's suit, however he appealed 

With his tide's stress and influence of the star, 

And gates of want where suppliant wealth had 
kneeled 

Bide unenriched by bounty brought so far : 

So tides sometimes of influence from the sea 
Of the Immortal Life that, pressing round, 
Invests the mortal lives of men, redound 

In the main's mighty multitudinous plea 



1 14 TIDES. 

And gentle surge of importunity, 

Against the barriers that our being bound, 
To seek if there some ready sluice be found, 

And soul not loth full-brimmed with God to be ; 
Then, lifted high the gladsome gates of will, 

And wide withdrawn the self-withdrawing doors, 
The ocean of the fulness of the still 

Spirit of God into the spirit pours ; 

Yet souls that list keep fast their gates, until 

The sea recedes and leaves them empty shores ! 



MY OPEN POLAR SEA. 1 1 5 



MY OPEN POLAR SEA. 

As those who sail in quest of quiet seas, 
Supposed to sleep about the sleeping pole, 
Eternal halcyon waves, the term and goal 

Of hazard, and of hope, and hope's unease, 

Deep bays, bright islands, happy haunts — as these, 
Whatever chances breasting, armed in soul 
To do or suffer, so to know the whole, 

Stem toward the Arctic up the steep degrees, 
Nor daunted, though a frozen continent 

Thwart them with sheer obstruction, coast along, 
And seek and find somewhere the straitening rent 

That yields them grudged entrance, right or wrong ; 
And still they strive, on their high aim intent, 

And strive the more, the more the perils throng : 

So sails my soul for that pacific sea, 

The pole and vertex of her different sphere, 
Where equatorial sway and swift career 

Are charmed and changed to fast tranquillity : 



Il6 MY OPEN POLAR SEA. 

Beyond where storms can beat she there shall be, 

Safe locked in blissful calms through all her year ; 

Unquiet hope no more, unquiet fear, 
Can vex her perfect peace and fair degree : 

But she must tend her sail, and smite her oar ? 
And take meanwhile the buffet of the tide ; 

Nor, when she hears the rending icebergs roar 
Upon her, tremble, but, abashed, abide 

To enter that, strait gate and dreadful door — 
This portal passed, lo, havens free and wide ! 



WHOSOEVER. 117 



WHOSOEVER. 

Like a quick sunbeam, parted from the sun, 

And lightly speeding on his way through space, 

That plies, nor tires, but plies the forward chase, 
As counting yet his journey just begun, 
How many goals soever, touched and won, 

And kindling from the kisses of his face,. 

Along the gleaming rearward of the race, 
Entice him to esteem his errand done ; 

Lighting on whatsoever thing he meet, 
Abiding wheresoever he alight — 

Guest to abide, but courier on to fleet, 
So ceasing never from still-ceasing flight — 

Yet swerves he not, though heart of grace, to 
greet 
What errs from his strict path, to left or right : 

Such the swift Angel of His Presence sent, 
Winged with a whosoever, from the throne, 
Who flies in flame and flies to every zone 



Il8 WHOSOEVER. 

From pole to pole beneath the firmament, 
Charged the glad tidings of their Lord's intent 

Toward his elect obedient to make known ; 

Cinctured with speed, he flies as he has flown, 
Forever, on his heavenly errand bent ; 

Lighting to bless whatever heart he meet, 
Abiding there wherever he alight — 

Guest to abide, but herald forth to fleet, 
So ceasing still from still-unceasing flight — 

Yet turns that angel aspect not to greet 
Save whosoever will, to left or right. 



LOVE AND WILL. 1 19 



LOVE AND WILL. 



1. 



I read her wrong at first, and called her vain ; 

I saw no simple nature in her ways ; 

All fresh first thoughts seemed tangled in a maze 
Of conscious tricks, and smiles conceived in pain. 

She was a gentle woman, pure and fair ; 

Her mind was radiant, like a mansion lit 

To let the gleam of art illumine it — 
Such sculptured thoughts, such pictured dreams 
were there ! 



Her girlish heart, too, was a miracle 
For such a tender sparkle of kind dews 
As it could send, to soften and suffuse 

The clear gray light of eyes made beautiful. 



120 LOVE AND WILL. 

But something froward in me slandered her, 
That affectation spoiled what else were sweet ; 
So naught of all she did or said could meet 

My evil mind, that ever made demur. 



ii. 



I used, when days were dark and life was pain, 
To lapse for comfort into thoughts of Christ ; 
'Twas sweet to cease, and sink imparadised 

In love that always changed my loss to gain. 

That morn I walked beneath a gladsome sun, 
In the fresh fields, amid the vital air ; 
Importunate joy around me everywhere 

Stormed at my heart if entrance might be won, 

In vain. My dull, cold heart refused to sing ; 
She would not, could not, join the jocund tune 
Of the blithe weather and the wealthy June — 

"Peace first," she cried, "some joy from peace 
might spring." 



LOVE AND WILL. 121 

But ever a divine enchantment strong 
Held me suspense from sinking into rest : 
"O Christ," I said, " I seek thy cradling breast, 

Child that I am, too tired to wait so long ! " 

" Not tired enough," such sense I seemed to draw, 
" Strong still to hold thy heart from loving, 

Nay, 
Not to be tired is childlike, but to obey ; 

Love is delight, but love is also law." 



" Amen, O Lord," out broke the quick reply ; 

" Yea, and henceforth law too shall be delight. 

Behold ! I meet thy will, in will's despite, 
And, bidden, love — the bidding reason why." 



in. 



As when sometimes the baffled hearkening sense 
Is conscious of a kind of filmy slide, 
That parts it from the world of sound outside, 

And blurs each audible image issuing thence, 



122 LOVE AND WILL. 

And idle rumors fill the brain self-bred, 
Noisily null pretences of right sound, 
That ring, and roar, and rumble, and redound, 

But bring no message to the half-crazed head ; 

Suddenly then that membranous wall will break, 
That deafening din of void confusion cease, 
And to the grateful ear again at peace 

The silent world of outward sound awake : 

So fared it with my heart, when I obeyed ; 

That seizure of enchantment gave me free ; 

At once I was where I desired to be, 
In balmy rest upon His bosom laid. 

Out of that peace upleapt a sudden song, 
Artesian inlet from the general mirth 
Of the glad sun and the sun-gladdened earth — • 

Upleapt, aspired, exulted, and was strong. 

IV. 

Love had been law, Dut love became delight, 
And love become delight gave other eyes 
Wherewith to read the loved one otherwise, 

Redeemed to wholly fair when read aright. 



LOVE AND WILL. 123 

Lovely she was, and lovelier ever grew 

To the purged eyes of love that saw the truth, 
Till thither she, and yet in lovely youth, 

Where all is love and love is all, withdrew. 

Love for delight is insecure delight, 

But love for law becomes delight indeed ; 
Such love's delight is an immortal meed, 

It laughs at loss, or change, or death's despite. 

I love her changed to silent, and rejoice ; 

For what she was, I love her, here of yore ; 

For what she is, and there forevermore 
Shall be, I love her, hearkening for her voice ! 



124 AT THE SUPPER-. 



AT THE SUPPER. 

I sat at supper with the guests of Christ 
One summer Sabbath's tranced afternoon, 
When not a breath perturbed the perfect tune, 

Though but a breath to break it had sufficed. 

We charmed within this sphere of worldly calm, 
A calm not worldly charmed us in its sphere ; 
We sat in silence, but we seemed to hear 

Pulses of other silence, like a psalm. 

The sense was of a voice that whispered, Peace ! 

And hands outstretched that benediction poured ; 

Love grew sweet pain, and so around the board 
A hymn arose that gave our love release. 

Then, grave and sweet, some rhythmic scriptures read, 
Echoing clear from holy long ago, 
Told us of trust in Him as rest from woe — 

Woe of the laden heart and laboring head, 



AT THE SUPPER. 12$ 

And, like an exhalation, prayer aspired ; 

Born of the earth, but born to brooding skies, 
A weight of want with leavening wish to rise, 

And buoyed by faith that was what it desired. 

My heart was broken with the broken bread ; 

I saw the broken body of the Lord ; 

Broken therewith was every wish that warred 
In me against his wish that for me bled. 

I bowed me praying, and so praying felt 
The presence of a brother unforgiven ; 
I did not hate nor scorn, but I had driven 

Him heart from heart with grace ungracious dealt. 

I leaned and wept, and loved and longed and wept ; 

And when the wine was poured that meant His 
blood, 

My heart was wholly melted in the flood 
Of one strong mastership that o'er me swept. 

I thought how lavish His forgiveness was, 

How He had poured His pardon without stint 
In rivers of blood upon a heart of flint, 

And used no measure, made no careful pause. 



126 AT THE SUPPER. 

Bitterly sweet the rapture of my pain, 
But I went out wholesomely comforted ; 
I told my brother all the Lord had said, 

And we forgave each other with tears again. 



ENTICED. 127 



ENTICED. 



With what clear guile of gracious love enticed, 
I follow forward, as from room to room, 
Through doors that open into light from gloom, 

To find, and lose, and find again the Christ ! 

He stands and knocks, and bids me ope the door ; 
Without he stands, and asks to enter in : 
Why should he seek a shelter sad with sin ? 

Will he but knock and ask, and nothing more ? 

He knows what ways I take to shut my heart, 

And if he will he can himself undo 

My foolish fastenings, or by force break through, 
Nor wait till I fulfil my needless part. 

But nay, he will not choose to enter so, — 
He will not be my guest till I consent, 
Nor, though I say, Come in, is he content ; 

I must arise and ope, or he will go. 



128 ENTICED. 

He shall not go ; I do arise and ope, — 

" Come in, dear Lord, come in and sup with me, 
O, blessed guest, and let me sup with thee," — 

Where is the door ? for in this dark I grope, 

And cannot find it soon enough ; my hand, 
Shut hard, holds fast the one sure key I need, 
And trembles, shaken with its eager heed ; 

No other key will answer my demand. 

The door between is some command undone ; 
Obedience is the key that slides the bar, 
And lets him in, who stands so near, so far ; 

The doors are many, but the key is one. 

Which door, dear Lord ? knock, speak, that I may 
know ; 
Hark, heart, he answers with his hand and voice, — 
O, still small sign, I tremble and rejoice, 

Nor longer doubt which way my feet must go. 

Full lief and soon this door would open too, 
If once my key might find the narrow slit 
Which, being so narrow, is so hard to hit, — 

But lo ! one little ray that glimmers through, 



ENTICED. 129 

Not spreading light, but lighting to the light, — 
Now steady, hand, for good speed's sake be slow, 
One straight right aim, a pulse of pressure, so, — 

How small, how great, the change from dark to 
bright! 



11. 



Now he is here I seem no longer here ! 

This place of light is not my chamber dim, 

It is not he with me, but I with him, 
And host, not guest, he breaks the bread of cheer. 

I was borne onward at his greeting, — he 

Earthward had come, but heavenward I had gone ; 
Drawing him hither, I was thither drawn, 

Scarce welcoming him to hear him welcome me ! 

I lie upon the bosom of my Lord, 

And feel his heart, and time my heart thereby ; 

The tune so sweet, I have no need to try, 

But rest and trust and beat the perfect chord. 
6* 



130 ENTICED. 

A little while I lie upon his heart, 

Feasting on love, and loving there to feast, 
And then once more the shadows are increased 

Around me, and I feel my Lord depart. 

Again alone, but in a farther place 

I sit with darkness, waiting for a sign ; 
Again I hear the same sweet plea divine, 

And suit, outside, of hospitable grace. 

This is his guile, — he makes me act the host 
To shelter him, and lo ! he shelters me ; 
Asking for alms, he summons me to be 

A guest at banquets of the Holy Ghost. 

r 

So, on and on, through many an opening door 
That gladly opens to the key I bring, 
From brightening court to court of Christ my 
King, 

Hope-led, love-fed,' I journey evermore. 

At last I trust these changing scenes will cease ; 

There is a court, I hear, where he abides ; 

No door beyond, that further glory hides, — 
My host at home, all change is changed to peace. 



DEDICATION HYMX. 13 1 



DEDICATION HYMN. 

What we have builded, Lord, be thine ; 

Thy gift we give again to thee ; 
Hither now cause thy face to shine, 

Accepted let our offering be. 

Have we not builded for thy name ? 

Here thy great name in grace record ; 
Visit the place in hallowing flame, 

And fill it with thy Spirit, Lord ! 

Souls in that fulness plunged and lost, 
That awful baptism from above, 

Reap a perpetual Pentecost 

Of power and wisdom, joy and love. 

Thus, Lord, baptized from thee to learn, 
Or thus from thee baptized to teach, 

Here with one passion may we burn, 
Christ ...... ... Cross to live and preach! 



1 32 ANNIVERSAR Y HYMN. 



ANNIVERSARY HYMN. 

O thou, with whom a thousand years 

And a swift day are one, 
Behold, our human hopes and fears 

A little round have run. 

Hopes for thy cause, ennobling hopes ! 

How foolish all the fears ! 
Shamed were a faith that droops and gropes, 

Since such accomplished years. 

Our hearts are large with thankfulness ; 

We glory in the Lord ; 
His Spirit doth our spirits press 

As we his grace record. 

Short rest in camp, then forth for fight ! 

Welcome the long campaign ! 
Girded with meekness and with might, 

Spread we Immanuel's reign. 



ANNIVERSARY HYMN 133 

Like the blue bending firmament, 

That kingdom yet must span, 
From shore to shore, a continent 

Redeemed to God for man I 



134 NATIONAL HYMN 



NATIONAL HYMN. 

A nation to the God of nations now 

Peal high the paean of your thankful praise ! 

All voices, Holy, holy, holy Thou, 

Hosanna, Lord of hosts ! the triumph raise. 

O God amen ! We thank thee for the grace, 
The glory of the grace that on this land 

Has beamed in sunshine from thy smiling face, 
And streamed in bounty from thine open hand. 

And, Lord, we thank thee for the Sinai cloud 
That threatened long the long-suspended stroke ; 

How with hearts humbled, and with faces bowed, 
We wept and worshipped when that thunder 
broke ! 

At thy rebuke, O God, the tempest fled ; 

At thy behest thy bow appeared on high ; 
We saw, and walked with hope-elated tread, 

Held by thy hand and guided by thine eye. 



NATIONAL HYMN 135 

We face our future, glorying in the Lord ; 

We welcome all thou shalt for us provide ; 
With God for our exceeding great reward, 

Rich we shall be whatever fail beside ! 



WEBSTER 



AN ODE 



O nostrum et decus et columen ! 



1782-1852 



IN GRATEFUL 



AND AFFECTIONATE TOKEN OF FELLOWSHIP 



FOUND IN SYMPATHY OF 



ADMIRATION AND REVERENCE FOR WEBSTER 



TO 



MY FRIEND 



HALBERT STEVENS GREENLEAF 



WEBSTER; AN ODE. 139 



WEBSTER : AN ODE. 



Ye see him truly, now : 
Their hour and power is past 

Who fain had shamed that brow 
It wears its crown at last. 

Hail him, his countrymen ! 
First of your foremost few, 

Given back to you again 
Yet greater than ye knew. 

Greater — for, good and great ; 
Not false, as they forswore ! 

He, who to save the State 
The State to please forbore. 

Well may the State he saved— 
Saved at such cost of blame, 

While still her mood he braved- 
Accord him, late, his fame ! 



140 WEBSTER: AN ODE, 



II. 



So sang the poet, rendered bold and wise 
By the fine joy he found in being just ; 
Wise to foreknow what should be, therefore must, 

Bold to foredate it with creating eyes. 

But the State hearkening, jealous for her name, 
Heard that sharp challenge of her thanks and 

praise : 
What did he to deserve such meed ? she says : 

Speak out, lone voice, and here rehearse his claim. 

O State, he said, for, lo, thou knowest it all, 

Might I be silent, and wouldst praise him thou ! 
The public hand should wreathe this public 
brow, 

And the great dead awaits his Country's call. 

Rash individual voice, speak what thou will, 
To hear is mine, the sovereign State replies : 
Me it behooves to wait and to be wise, 

With equal ear weighing the good, the ill. 



WEBSTER: AN ODE. HI 

just and reverend State — the poet spake — 
Much musing lest ill heard so loud and long 
Have needs ere now full nigh forestalled the song, 

1 sing — for his, and thine, and mine own sake. 



in. 



At that not ancient date 

Before thou grewest great, 
He knew thee, and he loved thee well, O State ! 
For, hearing oft thine early tale rehearsed, 

The boy was from the first 

In patriot wisdom versed. 

Him his heroic sire 

At evening by his fire 
Taught the pure passion of his own desire — 
Desire for thee that thou shouldst prosper long 

And be too wise and strong 

To do or suffer wrong. 

Wide hopes he learned for thee, 
His country, soon to be 
Wide as his hopes outspread from sea to sea : 



142 WEBSTER: AN ODE. 

Yet were his hopes as wise as they were wide, 
For conscience was as guide 
And prophet to his pride, 

Thence thee, State, yet young, 

He with prophetic tongue 
Chid to sit still when sore with passion stung 
His age ripe earlier than thy longer youth, 

With more experienced ruth, 

Knew to advise thee truth. 

True things for pleasant, he, 

With Roman firmness free 
From too much pity or awe, proposed to thee 
Such virtue of clear counsel, in the blood 

Streams, an ennobling flood, 

From father wise and good. 



IV. 



Bred in his father's simple school severe, 
Where sober godly fear 
And filial awe were dear, 



WEBSTER: AN ODE. 143 

He learned that saving sense 
Of bond to duty, whence 
Flow to us still these streams of good immense. 

For not alone his fealty to the State 

Rescued us in those great 

Hinges of fear and fate, 

When, under skies of gloom, 

He, hearkening, knew the boom 
That burst at last in thunder-peals of doom : 

His forty years of great example, too, 

Staunchly, in all men's view, 

To its own promise true, 

A fashion slowly wrought 

In us, unheeding taught, 
Kindred with him in our habitual thought. 

The man was more than the great words he spoke : 
This weighted every stroke 
Of speech that from him broke — 
That grave Websterian speech ! 
What sovereign touch and reach 

Empowered it from the man, to tone and teach ! 



144 WEBSTER: AN ODE. 

So, mother State, our schooling once begun 

Under thy Washington 

Advanced with this thy son : 

His equal mood sedate, 

Self-governing, wise to wait, 
Reverent toward God, he shared to thee, O State ! 



v. 



He gladdened in the gladsome light 

Of jurisprudence, and that light he made 
More gladsome for thy children — such the might 
Wherewith the right, 
In wrong's despite, 
This conquering knight 
Bore off in rescue from the field of fight, 
Those bloodless jousts of law that drew his dreaded 
blade. 



His Dartmouth — thine, O State, and his — he 
found 
With ills beleaguered round, 



WEBSTER: AN ODE. 1 45 

Helpless, of crafty foes the purposed prey. 
The lists were set 
One famous final day, 
And lances met 
In tourney, and fair Dartmouth trembling lay, 

With scarce a breath, 
Dreading her doom, a trouble worse than death. 
But lo, a lance 
She sees advance, 
Sees a fresh lance ride up and plunge into the fray. 
To right and left the field gives way, 
Nor bides that shock to meet. 
He charges to the judges' seat ; 
Onset of argument, 
Volley of precedent, 
Tempest of eloquent 
Logic and learning blent, 
Deluging blows on blows, 
He overthrows his foes. 
Her foes are overthrown, 
Dartmouth will have her own. 
Cheer thee, O cherishing mother, in thy son, 
His task for thee is done, 
Thy battle fought and won. 
7 



146 WEBSTER: AN ODE. 

Beholders, you may go 
That have seen this overthrow : 
Why do they linger so ? 
A sight that well might draw 

The wonder of the field, 
The victor knight they saw, 
That steel-clad knight, unclasp his dint-proof shield, 
Then — all his mighty heart uncovered there, 
His tender mighty heart to view laid bare, 
The filial in him to its depths astir — 
Go with his heart, as that a buckler were, 
Grieved that he could not bring a costlier, 
And standing by his mother cover her ! 
Such passion of great pity strikes an awe 
Even into breasts that sit to judge the law. 
From the august enthronement where he sate 
By Marshall's side, that pillar of the State, 
Story looks down with bland surprise, 
The friend's proud gladness beaming in his 
eyes : 
He drops the habitual pen, 
Nor takes it up again ; 
Each weighty word, 
Before, he duly heard, 



WEBSTER: AN ODE. 147 

But now transfixed he sees the speaker speak, 
While Spartan tears roll, one by one, down Mar- 
shall's cheek. 

Thus then it there befell 
That justice prospered well, 
And Dartmouth held her right 
By the valor t)f this knight, 
And this knight, O State, was he 
Whom, with unequal praise, I praise to thee. 



VI. 



Implicit in her cause, O State, the cause 
Of many another of thy schools was won, 

And large the sequel was 
Beyond the sanguine guess of thy sagacious son. 

A thousand seats of learning freed 
Leapt at that pregnant stroke : 
Broken, they said, the intolerable yoke 

Meant to subdue us servile to the greed 
Of scramblers in the legislative hall — 
Each of us there a partisan foot-ball 

For rogues to kick and scuffle for at need — 



H8 WEBSTER: AN ODE. 

That fatal forming yoke 

Smiting he broke, 
Once as with flail of oak 
Smiting, forever broke. 
Henceforth, they sang, O State, thy sacred trusts 
Of bountiful bestowment shall retain 
Their plighted dedication, to remain, 
Inviolable all, 
Secure alike from the rapacious lusts 
And from the whimsies raw 
Of demagogues and tamperers with the law, 
Mad with desire of gain 
And unchastised of awe. 

So sang the choir of colleges aloud 

That their rejoicing rang, 

And they moreover sang : 
Now every use and beauty be endowed 
With wealth to make them through long futures 

live. 
No more misgivings stint your giving ! Give, 
Ye sons and daughters of a noble State : 

Pledged are your gifts from fate. 

Nor long do answers wait : 



WEBSTER: AN ODE. 149 

In golden streams with emulous haste outpoured, 
On every hand 
Throughout the land, 
From broken coffers flows the escaping hoard. 
Science lifts up her voice 
In gladness, and rejoice 
Letters and art, and want and woe the while 

Sweet pity and love beguile 
To dry their tears, be comforted and smile. 
A better alchemy transmuted gold 
Backward to blessings manifold ; 
And these, O State, thy gains through him, are 

they 
Greatly, whereby thou standest and art strong 
And beautiful, O State, this day, 
And yet to ages long, 
We trust, we pray, 
A theme of love and thanks, of eloquence and song. 

VII. 

Thy commerce, too, that bond to bind thee one, 
He served at point of need 
When a pernicious seed 



150 WEBSTER: AN ODE. 

Planted and fostered in it, had begun, 

Struggling toward air and sun, 
To promise fruit of brother feud and strife 
And menace to thy life. 
O State, bethink thee well, 
How, woven in words of law 
And specious to inspire obedient awe, 

A charm of false enchantment fell 
Once on that river wide of thy domain, 

A sinister spell, 
And broadcast sown on all his watery train. 

It did not stay the waters in their flow, 
The tide's great stress, the current, still were 

strong ; 
But to each cruising keel that clove along 
And asked that way to go, 
It used its lust to answer yes or no, 
And wantonly more often answered no. 
From harbor mouth to river head, 

From stream to stream and lake to lake, 
That evil spell was like to spread, 

And thy one web of commerce make 
A thousand tatters torn and shred. 



WEBSTER: AN ODE. I 5 I 

Then a wise master of the spell appeared, 
To solve its magic bond : 
He waved no wizard wand 
Reverse, nor counter incantation whispered weird : 
Simply the truth he spoke, 
With truth the charm of falsehood broke ; 
Daring thy law above the law invoke, 
That young unmeasured might from sleep once more 
he woke. 
Thenceforth, O State, from fountain head to 

sea 
Thy waters all to every keel were free. 

' Of many one,' 
The motto for thy commerce from thy son ; 
As one of many thou 
Thyself in sequel now 
Art, and shalt be, while oceans roll and rivers 
run. 



VIII. 



He taught thy court of law to hear 
Speech of a strain that there has since been mute, 
Clear ethic tone, or Christian, that went near 



I5 2 WEBSTER: AN ODE. 

To charge and change the place's atmosphere, 
And give it higher other attribute 
Than highest grave juridical dispute. 
With wonder and with awe 

Men saw 
The lawyer leave the law, 
Or raise it rather, while with easy ascent 
Rising to his sublimer argument 
He spoke to listening bench and bar 
And reverent popular ear that heard from far, 

Of Christ and of Christ's grace 
To children, little children, of our race. 

And conscience, that dread might within the breast, 
How thrice more dreadful made 
Seemed it, as he portrayed 
The goad inexorable that gave no rest, 
No pause, but ever urged and pressed 
The sleepless guilty soul, till he confessed. 
Mute now these high forensic strains, 
Long mute, O State, but not their influence spent: 
The memory and tradition yet remains 
Transmitted, safe among thy glorious gains 
Through him, thy son, a force and element 



WEBSTER: AN ODE. 153 

To lawyers for a less unworthy aim, 
And spur to spurn ignoble ends with noble shame. 



IX. 



Nor served thee not that large bucolic life, 
So simply lived, and grandly — simply, though 
Report and rumor rife 
And general gaze that could not gaze its fill 

Made it a spectacle and show, 
Whereof men pleased themselves with fabling 
still. 
He could not stay or go, 

Could not at will 
Unbend in casual jest, in manly sport, 
But some, for love or thrift, would spread a wide 
report. 
The sun cannot be hid 
The heavens amid, 
The sun is seen, because he shines, 
And the sun shines, because he is the sun, 

And, sun-like, Webster's lines 
Out into all the earth afar were run. 
7* 



154 WEBSTER: AN ODE. 

Such was the man, and so 
His private life was public ; all he did, 

Or said, or was, was known, 
And nothing could be hid ; 
And nothing needed, for his ways were good, 
His most unguarded ways, and safely shown. 
His noble simple ways 
Supplied the speech of men with daily food 

For honest praise — 
Not idle, since to praise the good and fair 
Is to grow like, through habit, unaware. 
Men liked to hear and tell 
How farmer's garb became the great man 

well : 
And everywhere the farmer felt more space, 
An ampler air, a franker grace, 
Ennoble his vocation, with the thought, 
He is a farmer, Webster so has wrougnt. 
Somewhat more noble they already who 
Learn to think nobly of the work they do. 
So a diffusive lesson of far reach 
Thy Webster taught, not studious to teach, 
(As too he pleased, not studious to please) 
When but he slipped the customary weight 



WEBSTER: AN ODE. 155 

Of public duty, or the lawyer's toil, 
For intervals of ease 
Sought in returns to that estate 
From which he sprang, swart worker in the soil. 

His way in farming all men knew ; 
Way wide, forecasting, free, 

A liberal tilth that made the tiller poor. 
That huge Websterian plough what furrows drew ! 
Through fallows fattened from the barren sea. 
Yoked to that plough and matched for mighty 
size, 
What oxen moved ! — in progress equal, sure. 
Unconscious of resistance, as of force 
Not finite, elemental, like his own, 

Taking its way with unimpeded course. 
He loved to look into their meek brown eyes, 
That with a light of love half human shone 

Calmly on him from out the ample front, 
While, with a kind of mutual, wise, 
Mute recognition of some kin, 
Superior to surprise, 
And schooled by immemorial wont, 
They seemed to say, We let him in, 



156 WEBSTER: AN ODE. 

He is of us, he is, by natural dower, 
One in our brotherhood of great and peaceful power. 

So, when he came to die 

At Marshfield by the sea, 
And now the end is nigh, 
Up from the pleasant lea 
Move his dumb friends in solemn, slow, 
Funereal procession, and before 
Their master's door 
In melancholy file compassionately go ; 
He will be glad to see his trusty friends once more. 
Now let him look a look that shall suffice, 
Lo, let the dying man 
Take all the peace he can 
From those large tranquil brows and deep soft eyes. 
Rest it will be to him, 
Before his eyes grow dim, 
To bathe his aged eyes in one deep gaze 
Commingled with old days, 
On faces of such friends sincere, 
With fondness brought from boyhood, dear. 

Farewell, a long look and the last, 
And these have turned and passed. 



WEBSTER: AN ODE, 157 

Henceforth he will no more, 

As was his wont before, 

Step forth from yonder door 
To taste the freshness of the early dawn, 

The whiteness of the sky, 

The whitening stars on high, 

The dews yet white that lie 
Far spread in pearl upon the glimmering lawn ; 

Never at evening go, 

Sole pacing to and fro, 

With musing step and slow, 
Beneath the cope of heaven set thick with stars, 

Considering by whose hand 

Those works, in wisdom planned, 

Were fashioned, and still stand 
Serenely fast and fair above these earthly jars. 

Never agairi. Forth he will soon be brought 
By neighbors that have loved him, having known, 

Plain farmers, with the farmer's natural thought 
And feeling, sympathetic to his own. 

All in a temperate air, a golden light, 
Rich with October, sad with afternoon, 

Fitly let him be laid, with rustic rite, 
To rest amid the ripened harvest boon. 



I$8 WEBSTER: AN ODE. 

He loved the ocean's mighty murmur deep, 
And this shall lull him through his dreamless sleep. 
But those plain men will speak above his head, 
This is a lonesome world, and Webster dead ! 

Be sure, O State, that he, 
So great, so simple, wrought for thee, 
By only being what he could but be. 
But how for thee, with pain and travail dear 
He wrought, this yet some space I pray thee further 
hear. 



x. 



Plymouth Rock and Bunker Hill fast anchored 
stand, to stand for aye 

Part and parcel of thy mainland, as they stand se- 
cure to-day ; 

Part and parcel of thy story, wedded one with thee 
in fate, 

These fair names are sealed to glory fadeless as 
thine own, O State ! 

But as fast as Rock or Hill is rooted in thine earthy 
breast, 



WEBSTER: AN ODE. 159 

And as fast as their brave memory clings and clasps 

thee East and West, 
Even so fast, forever blended, braid in braid, and 

strand with strand, 
With them Webster, name and fame, is bound in 

one unsundered band. 
Words are deeds, and in these places words were 

spoken by thy son, 
Dear to memory, dear and deathless, as the deeds 

that here were done. 

O the joy, the exultation, that by him had voice 

at length, 
Then when first the new-born nation guessed the 

greatness of its strength ! 
How like ocean to his bases by the breath of tempest 

stirred, 
Did those seas of upturned faces surge beneath his 

spoken word ! 

Young he was then, with his country, and he felt 

the wine of youth 
Leap along his bounding pulses in those morning 

paths of truth. 



l6o WEBSTER: AN ODE. 

The exultant young emotion in the multitudinous 

heart 
Of the people that to live for was his chosen patriot 

part, 
Seemed to find in his one bosom room capacious of 

it all, 
Where with flood and ebb like ocean it could heave 

in rise and fall. 
Yet his words of cheer were sober, and he checked 

and chastened joy, 
Teaching us, by heed of duty, in the man to merge 

the boy. 

Then to see him, then to hear him, speaking for 
his country's cause, 

Roused, yet showing that unbounded might unroused 
within him was, 

All the inward man in motion, mind, and heart, and 
soul, and will, 

Meet the outward man to match it and its great de- 
sire fulfil — 

Height elate, transfigured feature, majesty sublime 
with grace, 

Glorious in the awful beauty of Olympian form and 
face ; 



WEBSTER: AN ODE. l6l 

Voice that like the pealing clarion clear above the 
battle loud 

Pierced and thrilled the dinning noises of the mixed 
tumultuous crowd ; 

Thought that smote like bolted thunder, passion like 
the central fires 

Underneath the rocked volcano tossing to and fro 
its spires ; 

Slow imagination kindling, kindling slow, but flam- 
ing vast 

Over the wide tract of reason its far-beaming ray to 
cast ; 

Single words like stalwart warriors, of those mailed 
knights of old, 

Standing unsupported ready for the champion com- 
bat bold ; 

Words again in serried order, like an irresistible 
host 

Moving as one man in measure, with a tread to shake 
the coast — 

Eloquence rapt into action, action like a god, sub- 
lime — 

O the life, the light, the splendor, of that flush efful- 
gent prime ! 



1 62 WEBSTER: AN ODE. 



XI. 



And thine he was, O State, this matchless man 
The statesman still, whether in popular speech 
He pleased yet awed the great promiscuous throng 
And taught them that grave wisdom intermixed 
With memories and with hopes inspiring joy, 
Staid joy and wholesome, purged of vain conceit ; 
Or in discourse statelier and more august, 
Decent in his magnificent array, 
He stood to speak before the flower and choice 
Frequent of all the learning of the land ; 
Or in the senate, prime among his peers, 
Consulting and disputing matters high 
Of general concernment ; or in turn 
A counsellor of presidents, and wise 
Head of ambassadors to nations, firm 
And prudent opportunely to devise 
The equal mutual league, forestalling war, 
That knits kin states in peace and amity ; 
Nay, even in legal argument full oft, 
Defending private causes, his large thought, 
Prompt in presaging heed of consequence, 



WEBSTER: AN ODE. 1 63 

Engaged him to a circumspection wide 

Of what might help or harm the commonwealth : 

Ever the statesman — this his statesmanship, 

To keep thee whole and one to be a state, 

A state, and not that lamentable doom 

A hundred petty fragments of thyself, 

Weakling and warring, each the prey of each, 

And each and all the prey of foreign states, 

Whichever need or greed or chance might 

tempt 
To tamper here with some poor sovereignty, 
Belike republic called, the paltry prize 
Of liberators and dictators, each 
Mad to usurp his turn of brief misrule, 
And vex his time the victim of his lust — 
An endless line I seem to see them rise, 
Of ever worse succession — sequel sad, 
Unutterable, burlesque and irony 
Of that which was — of that which might have 

been, 
Much more ; nay is, or is, we trust, to be, 
Since still thou art, O State, and still, though 

changed, 
Art whole and one, survivor of such ills ! 



1 64 WEBSTER: AN ODE. 

That thou art such as now thou art, and not 
Forever such as late thou wert too long, 
That land foreboded, rent with civil feuds, 
Nay, drenched, worse boding, with fraternal blood- 
Thank him, thank Webster chief among thy sons, 
Thy sons so many noble, chiefly him. 
These all loved thee, but he more wisely well, 
Foreseeing farther, therefore differently, 
And differently devising for thy weal.^ 
Good patriots all alike they were, O State, 
And lovers true of Freedom, mete them praise, 
Their equal meed, full thanks and reverence due. 
Bestow, stint not, they stinted not for thee, 
Thou happy mother, rich in generous sons : 
To thank their generous sons is thrift for states. 
So always Webster taught and practiced ; praise 
To render, to receive, was his delight, 
Such the childlikeness of his rich warm heart. 
Late now, but praise him as of yore though late, — 
Praise fits this master in the art of praise ! 
Adams and Jefferson, in fate and fame 
Equalled by that conjunction in their death — 
With what majestic eulogy those twain 
He fixed as stars of a new Gemini 



WEBSTER: AN ODE. 1 65 

In the clear upper sky with Washington, 

And with what joy rejoiced and bade rejoice 

To hail them there, celestial auspices 

Joined to the clustering constellated light 

Of the kind heavens above our country bent, 

Fresh beams to guide and cheer our walk beneath ! 

His praise was such that praise from him was fame. 

His father's fame, his brother's too, is this, 

That Daniel praised them. How, amid 

The jubilant acclamation loud that once 

Hailed him in sudden chorus round the world 

Defender of the Constitution, how 

Did that affectionate heart to kindred true 

Miss from the song the hushed voice of his brother ! 

It was his childlike weakness to love praise, 

But love with praise he hungered for like food. 

But praise, they say, at last corrupted him 
Degenerate from his first simplicity, 
Touched him austere with pride and loftiness, 
(His very greatness making him less great,) 
Hindered those frugal manners which had graced 
Such greatness, and as pattern borne fair fruit — 
Not so, believe them not, they saw amiss : 



1 66 WEBSTER: AN ODE. 

Miscalled it pride, his scorn of popular arts ; 

Hardness miscalled that sad sincerity 

Of wisdom weary to have taught in vain ; 

Miscalled it spendthrift and luxurious sloth, 

That open purse, that unconcern to thrive ; 

Light reck of due, unheeding hand and bond 

Miscalled that all-engaging negligence 

And habit of improvident delay, 

Born of upright intention sure of self, 

Joyful good will, and utter trust of friends. 

The wronged great, sad, sincere, and simple heart ! 

Nay, what if he herein had erred indeed, 
And those forsooth had gleaned a little flaw 
Of less than perfect manly in the man ? 
Sure, to such public virtue private fault 
Not sordid, and so small, might be forgiven ! 

More to abhor, abhorrent more to truth, 
Lies foully fit to that soft social heart 
And genial warmth of vital temperament, 
The tales they forge of reason, conscience, will — 
That reason, and that conscience, and that will ! — 
Through sensual appetite sold into shame : 



WEBSTER: AN ODE. 1 67 

Shame that had been a tragedy of shame ! 
And shame that should, for me, abide not hid, 
Full shown, a blot of contrast boldly black 
Against the clear large splendor of his fame. 

Still, mother State, and though the hideous lie 
Were hideous truth, still, I would plead forgive, 
Blame, but forgive, nor cast the shadow wide, 
Making it one eclipse to darken all. 

But pity and forgiveness proudly spare ! 
Simple and pure, though faultless not, yet pure, 
Even to the end thy grave great son remained. 
Heed thou them not that bid thee wail him fallen ! 
No spirit fallen and reprobate and lost 
Inhabiting a body ulcerate 

And sapped and foul with sins of sense, the man 
Who still in reft old age could overmatch, 
Repeating them, those miracles of his prime, 
Twice wrought, O State, for thee, and twice postpone 
Thine imminent doom ; postpone, but not avert 
The inevitable ! Yet to postpone was much, 
And saved thee — from thy fate it could not — through 
Thy fate, beyond it, and despite. Full soon 



1 68 WEBSTER: AN ODE. 

It came, the inexorable hour, and found 
Thee ready, not too ready, to receive 
The dreadful guest with meet return of grim 
Abrupt fierce salutation, eye to eye. 



XII. 



O the magnificent firm front of fight, 
Sportive and firm, as joyful with the joy 
Of youth and strength presaging victory, 
Which he that earlier fateful day opposed, 
Single, to the whole phalanx of thy foes ! 
A gallant chieftain led them on, with gay 
Audacity, and festive challenge flung, 
To tempt the adversary. The august 
Repose with which that adversary took 
Unmoved the shock of onset haply seemed 
To them deceived, insensibility 
Or dull capitulation to defeat ; 
Not, what it was, the tranquil rest of power _ 
At ease supping refreshment. Came betimes 
Full undeceiving. Roused, at length, self-roused, 
He moved and muttered thunder. Musical 
And low that prelude, but it boded storm. 



WEBSTER: AN ODE. 1 69 

Storm lingered and the lovely lightning played 
Some space gently and terribly its lithe 
And lambent beautiful wild play, while yet, 
Lulled in the cavernous bosom of its cloud, 
Dreamed the reluctant thunderbolt asleep. 
It woke and on the wings of lightning flew, 
Legion its name, and all the sky was fire. 
Revealed within his lightning, there he stood, 
The thunderer stood, and chose from out his 

store 
Of thunder, piled huge tiers, all moulds, 
Thunder alive, each bolt, and each awake 
Now, and uneasy, eager to be sped. 
From these, with leisurely celerity 
His missile messengers he chose, and charged 
Them to make haste. Already they had flown : 
Unhooded, from that dread right hand they flew, 
They fled, they fell, falcons of fire, and found 
Their quarry slain with terror ere with wound. 

At last one farewell long melodious roll 
Of boltless thunder mellow with remorse 
And pathos for his country, and he ceased : 
Clear sky again and cheerful sun in heaven. 



170 WEBSTER: AN ODE. 

Those foes discomfited were thine, O State, 
Thine, therefore his, and therefore overthrown. 
A fruitful fateful hour it was for thee, . 
For him glorious, and well with glory crowned. 
Yet glory more he merited, and more 
Costly to him, nor gainful less to thee, 
When after, all the flush of youth retired, 
And that unanimous auxiliar hope 
And sympathy of his fellows which before 
Buoyed him elate upon the billowy breast 
Of popularity, a rising tide — 
This absent, and proposed to him the dire 
Necessity of seeming for a time, 
To some pure spirits intense, false to the plight 
And promise that he swore with younger lips 
To Freedom — yea, and it being moreover 

dark 
And doubtful whether all were not in vain 
To do or suffer for a cause foregone — 
He yet stood and withstood for thee, O State, 
O Union, and for thee forbore his fame : 
For thee, O Union, stood, nor less for thee, 
O Freedom, since thou Freedom wast 
By Union, and not otherwise, to thrive. 



WEBSTER: AN ODE. 17* 

So then this strong vicarious spirit strove, 
Not one brief hour of uttermost agony, 
Dreadful and swift, but days, and weeks, and months, 
Of inexhaustible patience and slow strength, 
For us, and greatly stood, until he died 
But did not fall. Unfallen he died, nor fell 
Dying, nor yet being dead was fallen but stood. 
Throughout, and to the end, and on beyond 
The end, and endlessly, he stood — and held 
These standing both, Union with Liberty, 
Inseparably one, upright and safe : 
The toiling elements tugged at him in vain. 

XIII. 

Fixed, like the pole, 
He stood, whatever moved, 

As if, though sole, 
The shock to take, and break, it him behooved. 

The shock he broke ; 
The multitudinous main 

Its waves awoke, 
Woke all its waves, and stormed the rock in vain. 



172 WEBSTER: AN ODE. 

To join the waves, 
The mustering winds went forth 

From all their caves, 
Against him, West and East and South and North. 

The spinning void 
Of whirlwind humming by 

In its cycloid, • 

Paused, on that seated strength its strength to try. 

And the floods came : 
Deep called to deep aloud 

Through the great frame 
Of nature, 'twixt the billow and the cloud. 

And deluge rolled, 
From pole to pole one tide, 

Waste as of old, 
And weltering shouldered huge against his side. 

The thunderbolt, 
As when that Titan world 

Rose in revolt, 
Hot through the kindling air amain was hurled ; 



WEBSTER: AN ODE. 173 

And, whence it slept, 
Like a swift sword unsheathed, 

The lightning leapt, 
And round him its fierce arms of flame enwreathed. 

The rending throes 
Of earthquake, to and fro, 

From their repose 
Rocked the perpetual hills, or laid them low. 

And still he stood — 
For the vexed planet still, 

Created good, 
Was whole, and held her course, and had her will. 

Around him cloud, 
Pale spectre of spent storm, 

Clung, like a shroud, 
And veiled awhile the inviolable form. 

But umpire Time, 
Serenely wise and just, 

With slow, sublime, 
Unalterable decision and august, 



174 WEBSTER: AN ODE. 

Cleansed this away, 
And lo ! the glorious front, 

In candid day, 
Resumed, with solemn joy, its ancient wont. 

On the grave face 
Pain suffered and subdued 

Had worn the trace 
Of woman's passion and man's fortitude. 

But other years, 
In lengthening pilgrim train, 

Came, and with tears 
Wept out of thankful and remorseful pain, 

Touched each deep score 
That furrowed cheek or brow, 

Forevermore 
To majesty become pathetic now. 

And men said, See ! 
This thunder-blasted form, 

For you and me 
Fain once to take the fury of the storm — • 



WEBSTER: AN ODE. 175 

Is it not fair ? 
Come, cluster round the feet, 

. Doubt not but there 
Still to the mighty heart our praise is sweet. 



XIV. 



Forgive, O State, 
Forgive me, that I dare anticipate 
That which shall be ; 
Clearly I see 
Emerge the crescent of his fame from its eclipse : 
The dawn is here, 
And how shall I refrain my lips 
From singing of the sunrise seen so near, 

So near, so dear ? 
He knew eventual wisdom with thee lay, 

And, trusting thee with a prophetic trust, 
Well brooked to hear the hounds of faction bay 

Confusing thee against him to their lust. 
He loved thee, State, with self-postponing love : 
At length, through him, at leisure to be just, 
Pronounce, I pray, 
To-day, 



17^ WEBSTER: AN ODE. 

Thy late 'Well done,' 
Well won, 
Upon thy son, — 
Late, but full-voiced and penitent, above 
His dust. 



XV. 



Who boldly had begun, thus softly ceased : 
Meek with his joy to deem the dawn increased. 



C. R. W. 



HARK! 179 



HARK! 



BY C. R. W. 



A truant child o'ertaken by the dark, 

In sad bewilderment, where two ways meet ; 
White robes of morning draggled ; and her feet 

Beclogged with mire ; and many a bleeding mark 

Of awkward reach through briers, bristling stark, 
For flowers, or berries which she dares not eat, 
But clutches still ; scared at her own heart's beat, 

And crying to the lonesome sky. When, hark ! 
A voice ! And from that frightened heart a voice 

Responsive, thrilling up through cloud and night ! 
" My child \ " " O father, take me to the light ! " 
Her apron emptied now from blessed choice ! 

Such, Lord, was I, when, through the dark, Thy call 

Made empty all my heart for Thee, my All. 



I So TO A WALNUT TREE IN OCTOBER. 



TO A WALNUT TREE IN OCTOBER. 

BY C. R. W. 

O starry-crested wave of autumn fire, 

In rapturous poise before my feasting eyes, 
Stirring dim memories 'neath blissful skies, 

Whereto my heart doth yearn, — poor, tuneless lyre! — 

And to whose matchless harmony aspire ! 
In what far morning, where no shadow lies, 
Amid what echoes of the glad surprise 

When light was born, didst weave thy strange attire ? 

Didst garner sunshine from the emerald wells 
Where rainbows sleep ? — or, in the hidden ways 

Where diamonds sparkle, fill thy thirsty cells 
With living light to gild these perfect days ? 

Xo voice ! — though such desire my heart impels 
To win thy wondrous meaning while I gaze ! 



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